


The Prisoner

by superfluouskeys



Category: Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Agonizingly slow burn, Angst, F/F, Gen, Mental Anguish, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 15:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 250,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluouskeys/pseuds/superfluouskeys
Summary: Sixteen years ago, a wicked fairy condemned the Princess Aurora to die. A few days ago, defeated by Prince Philip and the Good Fairies, the wicked fairy Maleficent was confined to the dungeons of King Stefan's castle to await her own death sentence.In her final hours, Maleficent offers the princess a bargain.  Her decision will lead her down paths she never could have dreamed.





	1. The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a story I've been working on over at ff.net for over five years. It's a large-scale work, so I decided to wait until I was finished with it to go through the process of moving it over here.
> 
> The piece definitely has some weaknesses and flaws, most of which I am already acutely aware, but I gladly welcome all manner of feedback. I'm giving it a rest for now, but it is by no means a finished product.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> [The original upload date for the first chapter was June 29th, 2012.]

  
_Art by misslestrange274_

* * *

"Aurora?"

Briar Rose smiled and lit from her bed. She felt a little dizzy when she stood, and she had to sit back down, but at the very least she was sitting up when Philip entered their room. Prince Philip of the North was a tall and exquisitely handsome man with light brown hair and eyes. His frame appeared at first glance to be slim, but he was actually rather brawny in stature—his shoulders were broad and his arms were muscular.

"Aurora," Philip repeated warmly when he saw her, then, "Aurora," closing his eyes and savouring the name on his lips.

This habit of his already made Briar Rose very uncomfortable, and she had only known Philip for a few days. Every time he saw her, he said her name this way several times, and he saw her quite a lot.

The worst, however, had been on their wedding night. She had been so nervous, for she knew absolutely nothing of men. She had only been informed of her duties for the evening perhaps an hour before in a hurried, whispered conversation with her oldest aunt…or she supposed her non-aunt, who, herself, knew little of men. Briar Rose had left the conversation trembling and feeling as though she might expel the nonexistent contents of her stomach.

And then, after the initial pain had passed, when she had thought,  _oh, this is not so bad_ , he had begun. Begun to whisper and murmur and moan and cry out  _Aurora_  and Briar Rose had, herself, begun to cry for how it shamed her. She was completely vulnerable—so much more vulnerable than she had ever been, which was saying quite a bit—and Philip, her one hope for a dream come true, for a familiar face who cared in this strange new place in which she found herself, called out for  _Aurora_.

It was as though he were making love to someone who was not her.

She was not Aurora. She was Briar Rose.

"Philip," she replied, and she wondered what it must be like for him to hear the one he loved say his own name. She had considered telling him a few times, asking that he call her Rose as her aunts…well, as her…non-aunt fairy guardians did, but that was another kind of pain entirely. In any event, she doubted he would understand, for no one else seemed to, and considering how frequently he said her new name, she doubted he could learn to say her old one. Anyway, perhaps it was a good idea to try to leave the past behind. "What has happened? Is she…?"

Philip's expression darkened, "The creature is still alive— _it_  awoke sometime this morning. The Good Fairies feel that it would be unwise to kill the beast. They fear that some greater evil might arise to replace it."

Philip refused to refer to the wicked fairy Maleficent, of whose existence Rose had just recently learned, by her name or as a woman. It was Rose's opinion that referring to her as some kind of monstrous creature only made her sound even more frightening, but who was she to argue? She supposed she must have personally seen Maleficent at one point before the wicked fairy placed her under the Sleeping Curse from which she had just awoken, but she did not remember, and so she had no grounds on which to judge how Maleficent ought to be referred to.

The being in question had, according to Philip, turned into a fearsome dragon, which Philip had defeated with his sword. When it had fallen, it had morphed back into its usual form, a green-skinned human-like creature. It had been imprisoned physically and with the help of the Good Fairies' special magic for just such an occasion, and Philip, the Fairies, and a small council of soldiers had decided to leave it in the dungeon of Stefan's castle, just in case it was still alive.

"Well, I agree," she said and Philip chuckled.

"You agree, do you?" he asked, patting her hands. "And why is that?"

Suddenly Rose felt very stupid. She felt a blush rising in her cheeks as she spoke, "Well, it wouldn't do to sink to her level, would it? It is…" Philip looked as though he was barely containing uproarious laughter, and Rose had to swallow before she continued. "I mean, it is noble to let her live when she would not have done the same. Besides, perhaps she could come to regret—"

Apparently this was too much for Philip, for he began to laugh, and when he put his arm around her shoulders fondly, she very much wanted to shrug it off. "My sweet, sweet Aurora. Such a kind heart."

Briar Rose wanted to cry. "Then why are you laughing at me?"

Philip attempted to sober himself, but his face was red from the effort. "That creature is pure evil. It could never feel any sort of human emotions."

Rose frowned, "How can you be so sure?"

Philip shook his head and kissed her, and then rose from the bed. "I do wonder what it must be like inside your pretty head, my Aurora," he said fondly. "But I must be off. There is still much to discuss."

Rose had spent much of her time, particularly recently, wishing desperately for someone to talk to who was not one of her non-aunts. They were very dear to her, but they were all she had ever known, and she wanted very much to know other things. She had been utterly devastated when she learned that her entire life was a lie, and it had been a great source of comfort to her—perhaps the only source—when she learned that Philip would be a part of this new life. She did not know him, exactly, but she knew that he loved her, that he had fought a fearsome dragon to rescue her, and that he would not let any harm come to her.

What was more, Philip had led the life Rose might have known if not for Maleficent's curse. Minus all the dragon-hunting and sword-fighting, of course. Rose had hoped that he might understand how lost and how out-of-step she felt in King Stefan's castle. She had hoped that he would stay by her side while she experienced these new and frightening things, and that when they were alone she might sometimes ask him questions about his life, about the things she might have known, but did not. Of course she would not take up all of their time that way, but she had hoped that, given that her feeling of isolation and insufficiency was so all-consuming, it might warrant a bit of attention.

Granted, she had only been here for a few days, and it wasn't as though Philip never had time for her. She saw him quite often. But during all those times, he came and went frequently, and at night, he quickly became preoccupied with matters which were not conducive to talking, and amid all of it, they never really had a conversation.

Adding to the pressing feeling of isolation weighing upon Rose's heart was that she was not exactly permitted to leave her room without an escort. She was still very weak after her bout with the Sleeping Curse. She still needed quite a lot of sleep, and she was prone to dizziness and vagueness of mind. She supposed she understood, but she personally thought that a little more fresh air and sunshine than she got from her balcony might do her good, or would at the very least ease her feeling of imprisonment in her own bedroom.

Rose found herself in the depressing position, after the great adventure she supposed other people involved in the situation must have had, of being exactly back where she started. Waiting for life to happen to her was just as disheartening, no matter if she was doing it in a cottage or a castle. She spent her days lounging in a luxurious bed, drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for someone to come and visit her.

Her non-aunts came by far less often than Philip did. Perhaps they sensed on some level that she was still hesitant to see them after learning of their great list of lies. Perhaps not. The last time she checked, they seemed to believe that the only reason Rose had been so upset on the night of her sixteenth birthday was because of the arranged marriage which would keep her apart from the boy she had met in the woods. But it was so much more than that, and Rose still could not quite look at any of them in the eyes and pretend that everything was all right.

According to the fairies, Rose was to stay in her room for the next fortnight, until the Maleficent situation was cleared up, and then she would begin lessons in such things as reading, writing, and etiquette. It wasn't that Rose had no knowledge of these things, but her experience was nowhere near what it ought to be if she were to become Queen. The fairies had tried to give her lessons, but in Rose's defense, until very recently, she had not known that she would ever have a use for such nonsense.

The matter of the wicked fairy Maleficent troubled Rose quite a bit. If she had died in battle at Philip's hand, that would have been one thing, but since she survived, Rose did not see the purpose of killing her rather than simply keeping her imprisoned. It seemed spiteful, and Rose was not certain how she would feel about Philip and the fairies if they gave into spite that way.

If anyone ought to be angry with Maleficent, it was Rose. Maleficent had condemned Rose to death when she had not done anything at all. On top of that, because of this condemnation, Rose had become Rose for sixteen years, and now had to become Aurora again and pretend that none of that had ever happened. And yet Rose did not blame Maleficent, for she had never encountered the wicked fairy. It seemed a bit like blaming nothing at all.

An idea occurred to her, and she tried very hard to resist it, for she knew she should stay in her room, but Rose desperately wanted to know what was happening. She did not want to have to wait for Philip to return and get only a snippet of the truth which he deemed appropriate for her delicate ears. She imagined they must be discussing the matter right now.

What if she went in search of their little discussion?

Rose walked over to the door. She still felt a little light-headed and wobbly on her feet, but she had been lying down quite a lot lately. Perhaps it would do her some good to walk around. She touched the door handle experimentally.

Her hesitancy surprised her. The door was not locked. It wasn't as though she was a prisoner. She chuckled nervously and opened the door. What did it matter if she took a little walk? And if she were to happen upon Philip and the Good Fairies, well, then, what was the harm in that?

In spite of her internal pep talk to the contrary, Rose felt very guilty, as though she were sneaking around, and she all but tiptoed down the hallway outside of her room. The meeting was surprisingly easy to stumble upon—it was almost as though she had truly not meant to find them. She heard the three Good Fairies' voices clearly echoing through the quiet halls of the castle and followed the sound to an unmarked room.

Rose pressed her ear against the door.

"No, that wouldn't do at all," said Flora. "Rose—Aurora…has been through so much already. What could she possibly gain by encountering Maleficent?"

"But Flora, you know Rose! She—"

"Aurora."

"Rose or Aurora, she's too curious for her own good," finished Merryweather. "Don't you think she'll want to know who cursed her?"

"Aurora is weak, as you've all seen. It was a very great shock to her that anyone wanted her dead at all."

"And why shouldn't it be?"

"My point, Merryweather, is that I can see no reason for her to speak with Maleficent before the trial, and I can see many reasons against it."

A trial? But hadn't they already decided to let Maleficent live out the rest of her life in the dungeons? What would a trial decide?

"But won't it be a greater shock when she attends the trial, seeing Maleficent for the first time?"

"Fauna! Aurora wouldn't attend the trial! How absurd!"

"Well, I just thought, because it has so very much to do with her—"

"What Maleficent has done has little to do with Aurora and much to do with Stefan and Leah," Flora said firmly. "Besides, would you have kind-hearted Aurora listen to a death-sentence?"

"I suppose not."

Rose backed away from the door and ran back to her room, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. She had the awful sense that Philip had lied to her, and that her aunts were planning to lie to her, too. Had they not told her enough lies for one lifetime?

But she ought not to jump to conclusions. Perhaps Maleficent was to have a fair trial, and on the off-chance that the court decided in favour of…Rose swallowed the lump in her throat…death, they did not want her to have to witness that, for they felt she was kind-hearted and would mourn for Maleficent even if she deserved it.

That made sense, she supposed. Yet, Rose could not imagine any circumstance in which a person deserved death.

What if, as she had been trying to tell Philip, Maleficent came to regret her actions? People acted rashly. They made bad decisions. But they did not deserve to die for them. And if they died, they could never learn the error of their ways.

An idea began forming in the back of Rose's mind, catching like fire and spreading slowly until it was impossible to ignore. As soon as she noticed it there, she knew she must follow it, or she would burn forever for the knowledge.

Rose had to go and speak to Maleficent.

For one thing, this might very well be her only chance. No doubt everyone would want this trial over quickly, and apparently her husband and her former guardians had decided to keep her very much in the dark on the matter. Now that she knew…and especially now that she knew no one wanted her to know…Rose absolutely had to know more.

For another thing, it would get her out of this room. It had on more than one occasion occurred to Rose that doing as she was told wasn't going to get her the adventure she so craved. Additionally, if she continued to wait idly by for life to happen, in this particular instance, death might happen in the meantime.

Late that night, when Philip was snoring lightly and evenly, Rose crept from their bed and out of the room. She had only a vague idea of where she might find a dungeon—namely, underground, and so she wandered the castle stealthily for quite some time looking for stairs that led downward.

It was the first time Rose had seen much of the castle, and in this way, her very first adventure held far more excitement than she had anticipated. Though she found the main stairway with relative ease, she doubted that was her best course of action. She wandered past perhaps a dozen closed doors, musing that the castle was much bigger than it appeared to be from the outside, until she came upon another stairwell. This one struck her as eerily familiar, and as she made her way downward, she realized that these stairs also led up to the tower room.

Rose shivered and glanced over her shoulder at the path she only vaguely remembered taking, guided by a green light and an entrancing voice. It felt much more akin to a strange dream than to a memory, and the dream-memory ended with the top of the stairs. Though she had had a plethora of disturbing nightmares while she slept, the next thing Briar Rose remembered which could have even feasibly happened was awakening to Philip's smiling face.

When Rose reached the bottom of two flights of winding stairs, she was greeted with an open door revealing a hallway much like the one she had just left and another door made of metal bars separating her from another flight of stairs leading downward. It seemed Rose's search was complete.

The door made of metal bars appeared to be locked, but the lock did very little, as the door was not properly closed. It made an ear-splitting creak when Rose pulled it open, but Rose knew all too well that no one in the main part of the castle could hear anything going on in this stairwell. If the Good Fairies crying out for help and the voice of the very wicked fairy who posed such an immediate threat to the kingdom did not alert the scores of guests to the castle that evening, Rose doubted that a screeching doorframe would catch anyone's ear now.

Rose had to hold onto the wall and feel her way down each step, for all of the sconces in this part of the stairwell had burnt out. She could see a faint glowing light around the bend, but that did not help her find her footing on the winding staircase.

At last, Rose began to see the faint outlines of steps, and then she ran out of steps and continued along level ground.

"A visitor?" a voice called from the darkness. It was soft and low, almost frail, but resonant, so that Rose could tell that it was a mere echo of the power the voice could hold.

Beyond that, the voice was almost familiar, but Rose felt she had never truly heard it before, only its shadow, as though in a dream.

As Rose approached, she saw that there were bars. Behind the bars, she could just make out a shadowy figure of a person, possibly seated, definitely in chains.

"I was not expecting anyone so late. More secrets, I suppose?"

Rose approached carefully and as quietly as possible, though she was certain the wicked fairy could hear her, anyway. She wanted very much to get a better look at the shadowy figure before it got a look at her. The figure raised its head.

"My dear sir, you insult me," it said. "I can hear you. Step into the light, if you please."

Rose did not know why she blushed—embarrassment seemed an odd thing to feel. Still, she did as she was told and stepped into the light.

As she did, she found she could make out more of the prisoner's features. It was a woman with long, dark hair and very slender limbs. Her skin was possibly tan or olive, and her facial features were very sharp. Rose thought she could make out scars across the woman's face. Despite the fact that she was chained to a bench and to the wall behind her, there was something very regal and commanding about her presence.

"Well, well," she said and Rose could see the glint of torchlight upon her teeth as she smiled. "The Princess Aurora. I hope you will forgive me if I do not bow," she bowed her head, but judging from the numerous chains Rose could see, that was probably the only part of her body she could move. "To what do I owe this most surprising visit?"

Rose was, herself, quite surprised by such an amiable greeting. Emboldened by the prisoner's apparent willingness to talk, she stepped a little closer. "Are you Mistress Maleficent?" she asked.

Again the light glinted off of her smile. "At your service."

Rose shivered. "Philip said…he said his sword pierced you straight through the heart. How is it that you're alive?"

"It pierced my dragon form in the chest. The anatomy of dragons and fairies is understandably rather different."

Rose considered this, "But still, it must have been an awful wound."

"Yes, quite," Maleficent replied. She paused for a moment, then, when Rose said nothing in response, she continued. "However, wicked fairies are very difficult to kill, you know. As long as we survive the initial damage, our bodies can usually heal themselves."

"Truly?" Rose asked, daring to take another step forward. "That's remarkable! I admit I know nothing of wicked fairies."

"But you know of good ones," Maleficent offered.

Rose bit her lip, "I didn't know that I knew of them."

"Hm," Maleficent nodded. "Heaven forbid they should warn you of the peril you faced."

Rose was going to agree passionately, but suddenly she remembered exactly whom she was talking to, and she felt the need to defend her fairy aunts. "They were only trying to protect me."

"And a fine job they did of it," Maleficent said, and the amusement in her voice sent a chill down Rose's spine. "Sending puffs of their oh-so-colourful magic up into the air for any passer-by to see."

She should have defended them a bit better, perhaps, but she did not much feel up to it at the moment.

"But that is a matter of little interest to me," Maleficent said. "What is of great interest to me, Princess, is why you have come to visit me."

Rose suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. "I…well, I…"

"Have you come to lay eyes upon the monster who wanted you dead?" Rose's knees nearly buckled under her, and she grasped at the nearby wall for support. Maleficent chuckled. "It's as good a reason as any. This is likely your only chance. Tell me, am I what you expected, Princess?"

Rose bit her lip as she contemplated posing the question she desperately needed to ask. "Only chance?" she managed at last. "Philip said that they were going to…well, to keep you here."

"Hmm," Maleficent thought for a moment. "Perhaps he thinks you too kind-hearted to handle the truth." She tilted her head slightly. "Or too weak."

Rose swallowed the lump in her throat and steadied herself. She chose her next words carefully, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt. "Do you think me too weak to handle the truth?"

Maleficent considered this a moment. "The truth is that King Stefan has assembled a council of sorts to perform a trial, but it's all for show for the Good Fairies, who believe that if they kill me, some greater evil will rise to replace me. The King wants me dead, though, and so dead I shall be."

The words caused Rose's heart to wrench painfully in her chest, and she felt her eyes begin to water. "I was told King Stefan was a kind man."

Maleficent said nothing for a long moment, then gave a sort of half-chuckle. "You are very kind-hearted, aren't you?"

Suddenly empowered by the strength of her emotion, Rose approached the bars which caged the wicked fairy. Rose's breath caught in her throat.

Wide, dark eyes watched her carefully, perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. The fairy's lips were a deep red, and across her mouth in a jagged line ran one of two prominent scars on her face. The second was across the middle of her face, over her nose, as if someone had slashed at random to hit her. Her hair was very long and very dark, and it stuck out at odd angles. Some of it was plastered back from her face as if by sweat. Her skin was flawless and smooth apart from the scars. From afar in the dim light it had looked like a darker natural skin tone, but it was actually a light forest green.

The wicked fairy Maleficent was the most beautiful creature Rose had ever seen. Rose could hear and feel her heartbeat as though it were in her throat. She leaned closer to the bars. Maleficent, who had recovered her stoic facial expression, raised her eyebrows as if in a challenge. Rose slowly, carefully reached up and touched one of the bars. She waited a moment, then reached past the bars and touched Maleficent's cheek with her fingertips, steering clear of the scar in case it was a recent wound.

Maleficent's expression of aloof haughtiness changed abruptly. She curled her lip and something rather like alarm danced in her eyes, frightening Rose into drawing her hand away.

In a motion so quick Rose might not have caught it had she not been so close, Maleficent's eyes flicked down to Rose's hand and back up, assessing whether the danger of being touched again had passed. Rose rested her hand on one of the bars in silent apology.

"So tell me,  _Princess_ ," she hissed with a little tilt of her head, her cool demeanour instantly restored, and Rose could not help but notice how dark and expressive her eyes were as they reflected the dim candlelight, "has Prince Philip secured your happy ending for you? Have all of your dreams come true?"

Rose bit her lip and looked down, focusing her eyes on Maleficent's hands, which were, as could be expected, as long and spindly as the rest of her body, and were confined by chains that did not look the same as the others. She could think of no answer to give this beautiful and terrifying woman who was bound and chained and condemned to death.

"I…I never wanted any of this," she said at last, but that was hardly an answer at all. She looked up into those captivating dark eyes which now regarded her with a glint of curiosity.

"The chains around my wrists have caught your eye," she said. Rose blushed, but she supposed Maleficent couldn't tell in this light. She nodded.

"They're quite remarkable, really, if magical artifacts interest you."

"They do," Rose replied quickly. Perhaps  _terrified_  was a better term for what anything magical did to Rose, but magic fascinated every bit as much as it frightened. Briar Rose had grown up surrounded by magic, enveloped in it, and even chased by it, and yet she had not known!

A small smirk graced Maleficent's lips, and she lifted her hands so that the odd chains stood out. "Good and wicked fairies are natural enemies, and they have various defenses against one another. Some good fairies are very powerful—they make your three little old aunts look comical by comparison—" Rose flinched involuntarily at the word  _aunt_. She was sure it did not escape Maleficent's notice, but the wicked fairy continued speaking, anyway. "Most good fairies live by a set of rules, a code which states that they may not directly harm another creature."

This caught Rose's attention. The way Philip boasted of his battle with the dragon, it was as though he had fought it alone; however, she suddenly wondered whether that made sense. "Did they…" Rose bit her lip. It seemed stupid to ask the wicked fairy any questions, and yet in the past few minutes, she had learned more than she had in years from anyone else. "Did the good fairies…enchant Philip? To…to fight you?"

Maleficent chuckled, "Of course they did! Mortals are no match for wicked fairies. My kin have fought singlehandedly against entire armies and won. We can take out hundreds, even thousands of men at once."

Against her better judgement, Rose leaned in closer, almost pressing her face against the bars.

"I don't know where your fairies acquired these," she said, indicating her chains. "They are specifically designed to render a wicked fairy powerless. They suffocate our magic, so to speak, and slowly, over time, drain it."

Rose inhaled sharply, "But that means—if they simply left you here, alive, you would lose your magic?"

"Correct," Maleficent nodded. "Not all of it, of course, but after…perhaps a decade, my magic would be too weak to do much of anything besides keeping me alive."

"But then," Rose bit her lip and looked away, "I don't understand why they intend to…to kill you."

Maleficent tilted her head and studied Rose for a moment with those piercing, dark eyes shining with torchlight. "It is a much better ending to their story, isn't it? The evil beast was vanquished and the Prince and Princess lived happily ever after?"

Rose wanted to cry. "That isn't a very good reason to take someone's life."

"You know," Maleficent began slowly, softly, "another interesting thing about these chains is that they have no key."

"What?" Rose looked up. "Then they can never come off?"

Maleficent shook her head, "No, they can come off at any time. Anyone can take them off except a wicked fairy."

Rose's eyes widened. "That's…well, it's odd, isn't it?"

"Presumptuous. Arrogant. Or odd, yes," Maleficent smirked. "So I have a proposition for you, Princess Aurora."

"A…a proposition?"

"You implied earlier that you are unhappy. I don't know to what extent you're aware, but I am a rather powerful sorceress. If you were to set me free, there is little I could not give you in return for your mercy."

Rose's eyes flickered down to the chains on Maleficent's wrists, and then back up to those dark, dancing eyes, down to the ruby red lips, over the scars, and for one wild moment, anything seemed possible. Maleficent's expression was impassive, but Rose knew what her request meant. It was the difference between life and death.

Suddenly something very important which had slipped Rose's mind occurred to her, and she jumped back from the cell as if burned. "You want to kill me."

Maleficent's features formed a strange, unreadable expression and she averted her eyes for a moment. "As I'm sure you have surmised, if you were to set me free, you would be saving my life. I suppose it depends upon how you assess my character as to whether you believe I would truly repay that kindness by taking yours." She sighed, "In any event, I only ask that you consider it, Princess. I have nothing to lose by asking, and I doubt your Prince will be permitted to execute me tomorrow."

This, or perhaps a combination of things, made Rose's stomach churn and her blood run hot. "You've been lying this whole time, haven't you? You've just been trying to manipulate me into helping you so you can carry out your plan! Well," she almost shouted, backing up haphazardly into the wall, "I am not the weak little fool everyone thinks I am! I will not die of stupidity before I have even lived!"

Rose ran around the corner and up the stairs, tripping and falling in the darkness several times, for she could not bring herself to slow down, to breathe, to think.

She ran all the way up the stairs, not even hesitating as she was stricken by the peculiar sensation of having walked that winding staircase in a dream. She raced back to her room and slid carefully back into bed next to Philip, who was still snoring quietly. She turned to face away from him and began to shiver violently. She thought of song after song to try to drown out her thoughts, but they kept resurfacing from the swirling melodies to haunt her.

She turned her head to look at Philip, the man who had risked everything to save her, or perhaps he had only been enchanted to do so by the good fairies. Perhaps this fight of which he told everyone who would listen was nothing more than a set-up by the three women who had been lying to Rose since she was a baby.

She thought of Maleficent, exquisitely beautiful even in chains, frighteningly powerful even in her weakest state. She imagined what it would be like to see her at her best, and she imagined that it would be unbearable. Rose could hardly handle Maleficent behind bars. She would be completely overwhelmed by Maleficent free, devastatingly beautiful and positively glowing with devastating magic.

Rose now held the wicked fairy's life in her hands, and this, too, was terrifying. She almost hated Maleficent for it. She knew her heart would ache for Maleficent every day of the rest of her life if she did not set her free, for it was now officially Rose's fault if that exquisite creature was put to death.

But what if it wasn't her fault at all? There was the very, very distinct possibility that Maleficent had been manipulating Rose throughout the greater part of the conversation, as soon as she had realized that Rose might be gullible enough to help her. What if Rose was smart to let the wicked fairy die, even though Rose, personally, thought it was spiteful and unnecessary to kill her?

Several hours later, after Rose had been debating the same points over and over and had still not reached a satisfactory solution, she fell into a restless sleep.


	2. The Decision

Briar Rose's dreams were not unexpected—she dreamt that she decided to free Maleficent, and that Maleficent transformed from the quiet, broken creature she was in chains into the fearsome monster of legend, and that the monster proceeded to chase Rose through an appropriately nightmarish obstacle course consisting of frightening elements from her recent past. Rose spotted and tried to seek help in Philip, but he simply patted her on the head and called her Aurora and told her she must have been dreaming, and so Rose continued to run until her feet became tangled up in nothing and she fell.

The dragon grabbed her in one of its giant talons, and she actually felt the constricting grip closing in around her. She screamed and sobbed and awoke in Philip's arms, fighting like mad to get away from the dragon, which was actually her husband trying to console her.

"Aurora! Aurora!"

"My name is not Aurora!" she sobbed. "Get your hands off of me!"

"Aurora, my love, calm down. It was only a dream!"

"My name is not Aurora!" Rose screeched, and with the last of her strength, finally succeeded in throwing Philip off of her. He rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a murmur of surprise. Her energy completely sapped, Rose drew her aching limbs into her body and curled up into a tight ball to continue her weeping.

After quite some time, Philip recovered from his surprise and dared to ask, "What do you mean, your name is not Aurora?" He shook his head. He had heard the servants talking about Aurora in hushed tones, for they feared she was touched in the head, but he had refused to believe them.

"My name is Briar Rose," she replied without inflection.

Now Philip was truly worried. "No, it isn't, Aurora. Your name is Aurora. It has been since the day you were born."

Rose felt tears begin to well up in her eyes again, and one tricked down her nose and fell onto her pillow. "Perhaps," she said sadly. "But what of the time between then and now?"

Philip sighed. He had no talent for consoling hysterical women, and he was not a man who spent a great deal of time thinking or planning out his actions, but for the sake of his fragile wife, he tried very hard to choose his next words carefully.

"Aurora, I know it must have been very frightening for you…these past couple of weeks. But it all worked out, didn't it? We're together, and you have everything you want, and the evil sorcerer has been…has been captured. So. So there's no need to cry about it anymore. All of that is in the past now."

Rose squeezed her eyes closed and resisted the urge to cover her ears against the sound of his callous words. "Is it? Is it really?"

Realization dawned on Philip's face. "How did you find out?"

A mirthless chuckle escaped Rose's throat. "Was it such a big secret?"

Philip stood, "For good reason. I knew this would happen if you found out. Aurora, you have to understand, that creature is-"

"MY NAME IS NOT AURORA!" Rose cried, sitting up so suddenly that she felt light headed. She put her hands behind herself so that she did not fall down and began dragging herself off the bed to stand. "And  _that creature_ , Maleficent? Perhaps she has done some bad things. Maybe awful things, how should I know? No one tells me anything, so I don't know. But she is still a person, just like me, just like you, and she does not deserve to die. None of us deserves to die!"

"Aurora, stop it!" Philip cried. He grabbed her arms and held her to the bed. "You'll hurt yourself. Now, I'm going to go and get the Good Fairies and see if they can calm you down."

"Rose? Rose, what's wrong? What's going on up here?"

"Mistress Flora?" Philip called as the Good Fairy entered the room. "Did you just call her Rose?"

Flora blushed, "Oh, excuse me, Your Highness. Old habits die…hard," the word trailed off as she noticed the state the princess was in. "Are you all right, dear?"

"No, she is most certainly not all right. She's been raving for half an hour, saying her name isn't Aurora. Why do you think that could be?"

Flora looked horrified, "Aurora, dear…" She reached a hand out to the princess, who recoiled.

"And there's something else, Mistress Flora. It seems Aurora has found out about the situation with the beast in the dungeons."

Flora gasped, "What? But how?"

"How indeed?" Philip folded his arms. "Mistress Flora, I suggest you be more careful in the future. If this is the way you keep a secret from a mere girl, I must begin to seriously doubt your abilities as King's Counsel."

Flora bowed deeply, "I understand, Your Highness. I shall be more careful in the future." She turned to Aurora, who, to her surprise, was frowning. "Now, R…Aurora, dear,I know these past few weeks must have been very frightening for you, but—"

"Don't you dare say that everything worked out," Rose spat with a most uncharacteristic sneer.

Flora's first instinct was to back away, for she had never seen even the faintest glimmer of such rabid madness in the girl she had raised from infancy. And yet, her livelihood, her very reason for existence, had just been threatened. How could Rose, who was obviously so empathetic to the plight of Maleficent of all the God-forsaken things, not understand that?

"Aurora! Princess or no, you will not speak to me that way. Do you understand me?"

It was at this moment that Flora knew she had lost her little Rose, perhaps forever. This was not Briar Rose, for Rose would never have said anything so disrespectful. If she had, being scolded would have caused her such intense shame that she would have been completely cowed. Flora and her sisters would not have needed to punish her, for she would have punished herself for weeks to come.

This creature, however, who looked like Rose and sounded like Rose, sneered. She pushed Philip off of her once more and pushed herself off of the bed, and she stormed past Flora and out the door wearing nothing but her nightgown.

Flora was so stunned that she could not grab her wand in time to stop the girl. Philip was so stunned that he did not move to stop her. All they could do was to chase after her, crying out variations on her many names in an attempt to reach the girl they thought they knew within the monster they thought they saw.

While chasing after Aurora, Flora called out to Fauna and Merryweather. They, too, had been awakened by the screams of the princess, but only Flora had gone to check on her. It wasn't the first time Rose had had nightmares, after all, and how could they have known what a different situation this would turn out to be?

To everyone's immense shock, they found that they were chasing Aurora towards the door to the dungeons.

Briar Rose, for her part, did not feel particularly mad or out of control. In fact, she felt as though she had never seen things so clearly before. A mere girl, indeed! She would show them all! She would free herself from this place and find a life of her own. This would be what she asked of the wicked fairy Maleficent in return for her freedom.

Maleficent must certainly hear her coming, for Rose made no effort to lighten her footsteps. She ran down the stairs to the dungeon, almost tripping over herself in her haste. She rounded the corner and saw that the shadowy figure behind the bars had already lifted her head.

"Princess Aurora," said Maleficent as Rose stepped into the light, panting, her tone unreadable, her face hidden in shadow. "I…I confess, I was expecting someone quite different."

Rose said nothing. She had felt so sure of her decision until she laid eyes on the wicked fairy again. She was reminded of how overwhelming Maleficent was, even in her most vulnerable state. She was so spent already, she was suddenly not certain at all she could handle something so uncertain as what she was about to do.

"Aurora! Aurora, where are you?"

"What are you doing down there?"

And yet, was there really any going back now? What awaited her back there?

"Aurora!"

An asylum, most likely.

Maleficent said nothing, and Rose could not see her face.

"If I release you," Rose said softly, her voice raspy, "where will you go?"

"As far away as I can, I imagine," Maleficent said, surprised, her voice almost mirthful. "What is it you want in return, Princess?"

"I want you to take me with you."

For a moment, silence rang out through the dungeon. The only sound was of Rose's ragged breathing. But then, suddenly, there was a great rumbling of footsteps on the stairs, and the cries of Aurora began anew.

"As you wish," Maleficent said, almost inaudibly, and Rose heard the shifting of chains.

Rose ran forward. Her eyes locked with Maleficent's as soon as she could see them, and the intensity therein seemed to knock the breath out of her body. The wicked fairy Maleficent was gazing at her, black eyes (which Rose had imagined belonging to a fearsome beast) shining as though with tears, wrists held out to her. Maleficent was completely at Rose's mercy, as Rose had once been at Maleficent's.

Rose reached through the bars and touched the chains on Maleficent's wrists. They fell away instantly and clattered to the floor.

Maleficent closed her eyes and leaned her head back, and a smile crept across her lips as the footsteps rounded the corner and the rest of her chains began to slip from her body.

"Aurora? Aurora!"

"What are you doing over there? There's nothing to—"

Maleficent chuckled darkly and the voices ceased.

The dungeon, which had only been lit by a couple of torches, now glowed an eerie green. Philip and the three Good Fairies turned their attention from Maleficent to Rose, who did not take her eyes off of Maleficent.

"Rose," breathed Fauna with a little sob, "What have you done?"

Not much had changed about Maleficent's physical appearance. Her hair still stuck out in all directions when it was not plastered to her body, and it was all different lengths. Much of it looked as though it had been burnt off. Her face still bore a few nasty scars, as did the rest of her body, which Rose had not been able to see before. Her clothes were tattered, and her frame was skeletal, which was only emphasized by the eerie green glow emanating from her skin.

And yet, now, she radiated power and control. There was no vulnerability to her anymore. The things which made her weak before—her bedraggled appearance, her emaciated frame, the scars all over her body, only contributed to the discomfiting feeling that none of that—in fact, nothing at all—could stop her now.

The bars of Maleficent's cage literally melted away into puddles on the floor, and Maleficent walked forward slowly and deliberately. Rose shrank away, while Philip puffed out his chest and stepped forward as if to challenge her, though his only weapons were the Good Fairies, who looked as petrified as Rose.

Maleficent gave Philip a haughty once-over, smirked, and then turned her head to Rose, who narrowly avoided fainting dead away. If this was to be her end, she must meet it with dignity. She attempted to swallow, but her throat was completely dry. Maleficent offered Rose her arm, the way a gentleman would when walking with a lady.

Rose stared at it blankly, as did the four other people in the vicinity. Finally, with a shaky hand, Rose reached out and took Maleficent's arm. Maleficent raised her other hand, made a sweeping gesture which almost looked like a wave goodbye, and then they were gone.

Suddenly it seemed as though they were nowhere, and also perhaps flying through the air, and Rose felt nothing beneath her feet. She clung to Maleficent, who obliged by wrapping long, thin arms around her, and just when Rose began to feel distinctly embarrassed for her behavior, they landed on solid ground, and they were somewhere again.

Rose found that she was sitting in grass which was green and quite lush, but felt dry on her bare legs. This unfamiliar, prickly sensation reminded her that she was only wearing her nightgown, and she felt the urge to cover herself to preserve her modesty, even though she had just run all about the castle in this way. She waved the thought away, for it was useless now, and continued to investigate her surroundings. The air was uncharacteristically warm, though the sky was still dark. She could not see very much except that not far away, the grass turned into something more solid, and not much further away than that, the level ground turned into mountains. They must have traveled quite a distance, as Maleficent had promised.

Rose looked up suddenly in search of Maleficent. It occurred to her that Maleficent might have dropped her somewhere at random, away from the castle, but also away from her, and Rose felt suddenly very panicked, for left to her own devices, she would surely perish. Perhaps this was Maleficent's way of finishing her off.

But the wicked fairy in question stood a small distance away with her back to Rose. She appeared to be surveying the area, but with a far keener eye than Rose possessed at such an hour.

"What time is it?" Rose asked quietly, trying to disguise the intense relief she felt at not being abandoned. This was perhaps not her most burning question, but it was fairly innocuous.

Maleficengt turned and looked at her as if she had forgotten Rose was there. "I don't know," she said. "Four or five o'clock. A few hours until dawn yet, by the look of the sky."

Rose nodded. "Where…where are we?"

Maleficent approached and offered Rose her hand. Again, Rose stared at it for a moment before taking it. "In the Land of the Two Rivers, a short walk from the Dragon Country." Rose stood, but did not let go of Maleficent's hand, for she feared her legs would not support her. "You must be very tired. I would have brought us directly to my home, but I have not been here in quite some time, and I was not certain what to expect. This was a rather volatile territory when I left."

It struck Rose as very odd that Maleficent had lived somewhere other than her legendary castle in the Forbidden Mountains. Rose had only been aware of the wicked fairy's existence for a fortnight at most, and yet the way people spoke of her made her seem like some kind of ancient myth, distant, unreal, unchanging. It was strange to think of her as a normal person who sometimes changed places of residence.

"How long ago did you leave this place?"

Maleficent thought for a moment, "Almost a century ago, I suppose." Rose's eyes widened and she let out a little gasp. "Do you feel well enough to walk now?" she asked. If she had seen the surprise on Rose's face, she politely ignored it.

"I think so," Rose replied.

Maleficent offered Rose her arm as before, and Rose tried very hard not to lean on it too much, but her legs felt shaky and her feet refused to cooperate, stumbling with every step she took. Maleficent continued to speak, "May I ask what your cause for surprise is, Your Highness? I know a century must seem like an eternity to you, but to a fairy it is not so long at all."

Without very much forethought at all, Rose said exactly what she was thinking. "I hope you will forgive my rudeness, but how is it that you appear so young and my aunts…I mean, the Good Fairies…look so old?" Once the words were out in the open air, Rose blushed and immediately regretted her question, but Maleficent merely chuckled good-naturedly. The sound would have been warm if her voice were not so chilling.

"Well, even Mistress Merryweather has a few centuries on me, Princess Aurora."

Rose bit her lip, "Would you mind…calling me…I mean, my name…it's…" She swallowed, "All my life, I have answered to Briar Rose."

"Briar Rose," Maleficent repeated quietly, and a very different sort of chill ran through Rose's body. It felt so good to hear someone use her real name— _no, not just anyone,_  a little voice told her, but that thought brought back her general unease and so she ignored it the best she could. She noticed suddenly that Maleficent was chuckling.

"What?" she asked, feeling heat flood her cheeks.

"Nothing, nothing," Maleficent said, evidently holding in her laughter. "It's very subtle of them."

Rose did not understand the joke, and she was fairly certain that it was at her expense. She felt tears begin to well in her eyes and reached up to wipe them away. Maleficent stopped walking.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she said, all amusement gone from her voice. "I wasn't laughing at you."

Rose sniffed and turned her back to Maleficent, trying not to let her legs give way underneath her. "What are you doing, asking for my forgiveness? You're a wicked fairy who wants me dead, aren't you? Just kill me, already. I'm too stupid to live."

"That's rather dramatic," Maleficent said evenly. "Anyway, I'm hardly going to kill you after you've just saved my life. Now, it's very late…or early, depending upon your interpretation, and I daresay you could use a good night of sleep. Let us continue our journey on foot, or I shall be forced to carry you like a child. This is no place to be lurking about at night."

Rose turned around, tears of embarrassment streaming unchecked down her face, to find that Maleficent was offering her arm. She could not see Maleficent's face, but merely the outline of her tall frame and the pieces of hair still standing out. Feeling very ashamed, Rose took Maleficent's arm and they continued to walk.

What had come over her? Not just now, but all night? This strange woman, this woman who had cursed her when she was merely a baby, had come into her life and turned her entire world upside down not once, but twice. First Rose had been forced to leave her home in the forest with the three women she had believed to be her aunts, and this evening, she had succumbed to utter madness. She had snapped at her husband and her non-aunt and she had gone running through the castle to offer her hand to the woman who wanted her dead, and now they were who-knew-how-far away from the castle and from everything with which Briar Rose was even superficially acquainted.

The castle to which Maleficent led her reminded Rose a little of the pictures she had seen of the Forbidden Mountains, but it was not quite so angular. It did not fit her image of Maleficent like that picture did, but there were elements of her in it. Not that she knew what she was talking about—she had only known this woman a few hours.

Maleficent waved her hand and the giant doors which made the grand entrance flew open.

The castle was most certainly deserted, and had been for some time. The furniture looked as though it had once been very impressive, but it had fallen into awful disrepair, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. When the fresh night air rushed into the room, several dozen rats scattered away into the shadows.

Maleficent entered and turned in a circle, surveying the room. Rose hesitantly followed.

"Fetch a broom," Maleficent said to her.

"Wh-what?" Rose stammered, but Maleficent was already laughing quietly and walking away from her. She made a sweeping gesture with her hands and the dust slipped away like a blanket.

"I confess I would get quite a kick out of seeing your three fairies cleaning without magic," she said as she made little swirls with her fingers to repair the legs of a chair. "I find this a bit tedious because I usually have a staff to help me. One wave and the entire room would be as it was."

Rose dared to smile, just a little. "That really should have been my first clue. I did most of the cooking and cleaning, since I was very small, because none of them ever really got the hang of it. I found it sort of odd, but I never gave it much thought."

Maleficent nodded to herself. "As I mentioned, sixteen years is not a very long time to a fairy. Especially when you've lived for several centuries with the ability to wave your hands and have whatever you want, most fairies become quite complacent."

Rose bit her lip, trying to keep her smile in check. "That would explain the gardening, too, I suppose."

Maleficent chuckled. "Even Flora? That is her dominion, after all."

Rose nodded fervently, "Especially Flora. She was the only one who ever even bothered, and she would sometimes just stare at the flower boxes like they were offending her! I always ended up watering the flowers because I couldn't bear to see them die. Aunt Flora got so upset," she shook her head, caught between laughing and crying at the memory.

Maleficent, who had ceased repairing furniture to engage in this conversation, seemed to sense Rose's unease. She went back to her work.

Rose shook her head again, this time to clear her muddled thoughts. "But didn't they have to learn to do all of that with magic? Wouldn't that be just as difficult as learning to do it by hand?"

Maleficent considered this for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I don't even remember being taught to do any of that. My sisters and I were assigned cooking and cleaning and gardening as chores, and it was just a wave of the hand. It never took much time or effort."

"You have sisters?"

Maleficent was silent for a moment, and she appeared to be concentrating very hard on a scratch in a side table. "I did, yes," she said at last, softly.

Rose was torn on whether she ought to let this go. Maleficent clearly did not want to talk about what happened to her sisters, but Rose got the impression that she had never talked about it with anyone, and that might have been a very long time ago, and she might have needed to talk, and… "What happened?"

Maleficent traced the scratch with her index finger for another tense moment. "They were killed."

Rose took two tentative steps forward. "How long ago?"

Maleficent looked up, but her focus was on the blank wall ahead of her. "About a century ago, I suppose."

Rose reached out and put her hand on Maleficent's arm. Maleficent jumped away from her and threw Rose off of her arm, and Rose felt a supernatural burning sensation searing across her skin as she fell back onto the floor. Maleficent stood, arms raised as if ready for a fight, wide-eyed and panting.

"I'm sorry," Rose choked out. "I…I'm so sorry."

Maleficent blinked a few times, staring at Rose as if she could not really see her. After a moment, her shoulders slumped and she leaned against the end table with her eyes closed. "It would be in your best interest," she said, her voice soft, her words clipped, "not to startle me." She opened her eyes and Rose was stricken by how very black they were. Maleficent's expression softened somewhat and she took a step forward and offered her hand to Rose. "I am sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you."

Rose swallowed and shook her head, but she remained still, leaning back on her hands, shivering.. A moment of tense silence passed. Rose did not realize she was crying until she felt the tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

Maleficent dropped her hand and knelt down in front of Rose. Her expression was unreadable now, but there was no longer any trace of malice in it. Rose felt the overwhelming urge to launch herself upon Maleficent and cry into her shoulder, but given what had just happened when Rose merely touched Maleficent's arm with her fingertips, she doubted that would end well. And so she sat still and continued to weep openly with nothing and no one to comfort her.

After another few minutes, Maleficent stood and disappeared up the stairs, and this only made Rose sob harder. She supposed Maleficent had no obligation to stay with her while she cried. Perhaps Maleficent thought she was the reason for Rose's emotional breakdown, but that was only a tiny fraction of it. Maleficent was terrifying, volatile, wild. She had gone from participating in a civil conversation to lashing out with dark magic at the drop of a hat. And yet, she was now the only person Rose had who did not seem intent upon locking her away for the rest of her life.

A few minutes ago, Rose had not thought it possible to be more alone than she was. Somehow she had managed it.


	3. The Dragon

Rose collapsed onto the hard floor, more from exhaustion than anything else, and her tears soon subsided. She hardly felt the uneven stones beneath her—her body was mostly numb now. She was already half-asleep when she felt long, slender fingers running through her tangled hair and cradling her head.

She opened her eyes groggily to see Maleficent leaning over her, the harsh features of her face as close to impassive as they could be. She supposed she ought to have been frightened, but she was too tired to feel more than one thing at a time, and at the moment, her senses were concentrating on how good it felt to be touched so gently.

Maleficent lifted Rose up to a sitting position and then scooped her up in her arms, every touch gentle, feather-light, almost soothing. Rose wrapped her arms sleepily around Maleficent's neck. She took a strand of Maleficent's hair between her fingers and examined it. It was thick, healthy hair, not particularly soft, and it did indeed feel as charred as it looked. Still, there was something very pleasant about it, and Rose ran her fingers through the hair she could reach without losing her grip as Maleficent carried her upstairs and into a bedroom.

She could not make out much about the room in the dim light of early morning, and so she decided not to try. It mattered most to her that the bed was exquisitely soft and the pillows and sheets smelled fresh and clean. Maleficent tucked her in briskly and before she left, she touched Rose's forehead, just for an instant. But then it was over, and she strode quickly out of the room. Rose decided just before she fell into a deep slumber that she must already be dreaming.

When she awoke, she was stricken by panic, for she could not remember where she was, nor how she had gotten there. She sat up in the foreign bed for several minutes, shaking with terror, as she slowly realized that the events of the previous evening had not been a particularly upsetting nightmare.

She had run away from home. She had run away from her husband and from her fairy non-aunts and from her parents. She had run away from being a princess, from being Princess Aurora.

But in doing so, she had still run away from home, in every sense of the word. She had run away from all that was even marginally familiar to her. She had run away from the people who loved and cared for her, however misguidedly, and to whom?

The wicked fairy who wanted her dead.

The thought made Rose want to cry. How stupid could she be? How desperate for adventure, that she would put herself in direct danger for a chance at seeing anything beyond the confines of Princess Aurora's destiny? She ought to be crying for what she had lost, and yet she supposed that after last night's episode, she must be fresh out of tears, for she merely felt exhausted. As she glanced around the unfamiliar room where she had slept, she realized that last night might actually only have been a few hours ago, as the room was still lit only by the faintest glimmers of morning.

The walls of the little bedroom were faded blue and otherwise bare. The room was sparsely furnished—there were a chest of drawers and a small desk across from the bed where Rose lay. Next to the bed stood a small table with a few books on it. Rose sat up, feeling slightly dizzy, but surprisingly well-rested, and examined the books. The first was a very large, thick black book titled  _The Art of Defensive Magic_. It had a golden silk bookmark about halfway through. Beneath that was a faded blue book titled  _The Magic of the Elements, Volume II_. The third was a light brown book with no title on the cover. Rose flipped it open and found that it was called  _The Biography of Mistress Acacia of the Kingdom by the Sea_ , and that it was written by Mistress Kinsale of the Kingdom of Hill and Valley.

Rose could not read especially well, and so she decided not to spend too much time trying to flip through any of these books. She doubted she would understand them, anyway. By the sound of it, they were all about magic and magical creatures. She lit from the bed and walked over to the desk, where there were more books, some papers, and quills made from a variety of colourful feathers.

The chest of drawers was filled with very lovely clothes and underthings, which were ostensibly made for someone much smaller than Rose. They looked as though they might be a child's clothes, and yet they were so beautifully made, Rose could not even fathom such a thing. She had always had to make her own clothing from whatever fabric her fairy non-aunts brought home, and there had been no sense in spending a lot of time on something she would grow out of.

With nothing left to investigate, Rose sat upon the edge of the bed and cradled her head in her hands and tried to wrap her mind around the situation into which she'd gotten herself. She'd been so upset when she found out that, on top of the great lie which had been her childhood, her aunts intended to keep yet another secret from her. In fact, she'd been more than upset. Rose had never been angry in her life. She wouldn't know what it felt like if she were, and yet she imagined it must be similar to the way she'd felt upon learning that she was to be lied to yet again. She'd wanted to do something about it, and, finding herself with limited resources, had sought out the truth, if nothing else.

In search of the truth, Rose had found Maleficent, and there was no telling where she lay on the scale of accuracy. If Rose's aunts were to be believed, Maleficent told nothing but wicked lies.

Flora had told her that Maleficent was pure evil. Maleficent wanted her dead—"You, Rose! Of all the terrible people in this world! You were such a sweet child, too, Rose. You never made a fuss, you were always so happy, and such a pretty babe. And Maleficent came storming into your christening uninvited and cursed you to die!" Flora had explained that the Queen—or rather, Rose's mother—had even considered inviting Maleficent to the christening, kind-hearted as she was, and the king—that is to say, Rose's father—as well as the fairies had been vehemently against it.

"But," Rose had asked, "didn't you say she was so angry because she wasn't invited? If you had simply invited her, perhaps—"

"Now, Rose," Flora had chided, "I know you know nothing of the evils of this world, and I am so glad of it. But Maleficent would have caused trouble no matter what. That is her nature. We were only trying to protect you."

Fauna had been far gentler, but equally set in her opinion. "Maleficent is a very unhappy woman, Aurora," she had said, barely contained melancholy in her tone as she dutifully used Rose's given name, as was required of her. "And I don't think it's entirely her fault. It's in her nature, you know. She simply doesn't understand love or kindness or affection…or any of the things that fill a person's life with joy. All wicked fairies are like that."

This statement had made Rose very curious. "What are other wicked fairies like?" she asked. "Do they look the same? Act the same way?"

Fauna had become very nervous at Rose's query and had answered her carefully. "Well, I haven't interacted with very many," she said slowly. "But the others I've met haven't been nearly as…powerful…as she is, to say the least. That is the troubling thing about Maleficent—she's very smart. I don't think any of those other wicked fairies could have cursed someone to…to die, even if they wanted to. It's only…" she bit her lip "…it's such a shame that she uses her extraordinary intelligence that way. To make bad things happen." She shook her head, "But as I said, I don't think she could do any differently if she tried. It's simply the way she was born."

Merryweather had been by far the most aggressive, even more so than Philip. "Oooooh, just thinking about it makes me so mad, I could just…!" She shook her fist at nothing. "Don't you worry your head about that evil thing one minute more, Rose," she said firmly, for she defiantly refused to call her little Rose by any other name. "I'm sorry you had to know about her at all."

A few days and a lifetime ago, Rose would have smiled fondly and agreed to put the matter behind her. But Merryweather had lied to her just as freely as her other two aunts. Merryweather, who so firmly believed in telling it like it was, had never bothered to mention her long list of untruths, and did not even have the decency to act ashamed now that the news was out.

As it stood, Rose frowned ever so slightly. "But Aunt Merryweather, I only want to understand why. There must have been a reason she did it."

Merryweather shook her head. "Sweet girl," she said, patting Rose's hands, "she did it because that is what wicked fairies do. They cause trouble. Maleficent was upset that the King and Queen didn't acknowledge her power by inviting her to your christening, so she decided to show them exactly what that power could do."

"But here's the other thing I don't understand—why would she make it sixteen years? That seems very strange to me. It's a random number, and it doesn't make sense why she wouldn't simply kill me immediately."

Merryweather suddenly became very interested in her fingernails. "Rose," she said softly, her voice weak, "don't say such things. How should I know why she cursed you the way she did? She didn't kill you right then because she thought it would be more painful to give you a short time to live before she took you away. I don't know. Just…just don't worry about it anymore, okay? It's over now."

 _But here's the last thing, Merryweather,_  thought Rose sadly,  _how can it ever be over?_

Everyone wanted so desperately for the matter to be  _over_. They wanted Rose cured of the after-effects of the Sleeping Curse. They wanted Philip and Rose married and the Northern and Eastern Kingdoms united. They wanted Maleficent dead and out of the way forever.

No one seemed to see that this ordeal that they wanted over and done with was the entirety of Rose's existence. When it was over, what would Rose be left with? Nothing. Rose wouldn't exist anymore. She would be Aurora.

This was the reason Rose had run away. This was the reason she had chosen the possibility of immediate danger over another day in what seemed to her little more than a gilded cage. She had to hold onto herself. No one else was going to do it for her.

Anyway, she had survived the night, brief though it may have been. Maleficent had thus far honoured her twisted promise of a life for a life. Rose wondered idly where Maleficent might be. Was she sleeping? Had she left for some far-off land, abandoning Rose to die alone in some strange castle?

Rose had long since stopped quivering in fear. She'd gotten herself into this mess. She was either going to die or to have quite an adventure, and there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. She lit from the bed, opened the door into the hallway, and went in search of the wicked fairy whose company she'd decided to keep.

The corridors of this castle were as different from the elegant halls of King Stefan's castle as anything could be. The floor was not covered by any sort of carpeting, for one thing, and it was uneven. Rose rolled her ankles at least twice stepping into spots where a large stone was missing. The walls were bare aside from the multitude of spider webs, some of which were the homes of some very large and frightening spiders. Where most of the doors in Stefan's castle were always closed, most of the doors in this castle either hung open or were not there at all, and almost every doorway was the territory of a fuzzy-legged arachnid. None of the rooms looked as though they might be inhabited by another person. Rose supposed she might be underestimating Maleficent's tolerance for dust and creepy bugs, but given the amount of work she had ostensibly put into making Rose's bedroom livable, Rose imagined she would do the same for herself.

The staircase which Maleficent had so gracefully ascended with Rose in tow—assuming that was not a dream—was anything but sound in construction. Rose could see through some of the steps all the way to the grand ballroom below her, and with every step she took, a little more stone crumbled beneath her feet. It was most unnerving, and she was much happier when she landed upon the solid, albeit uneven, floor of the ground level.

The grand ballroom now actually looked like one—Rose supposed Maleficent must have done some more work on it after putting Rose to bed. The furniture was ornate, the rugs were brightly-coloured and looked very clean, and the entire room had a regal glow about it, where the rest of the castle felt as gloomy and deserted as it looked.

After a thorough inspection of the dining room and the kitchens, which were still in relative disrepair, Rose began to contemplate the notion of going outside to look for Maleficent. She remembered all too well Maleficent's insinuations that the territory was not particularly safe, and Rose somehow doubted that she was referring to dragons. Then again, what choice did Rose have? She could look outside or she could sit and wait and drive herself insane with questions she could not answer. If Maleficent was in the castle, she had hidden herself well. It was bright outside now, and Rose would just take a little look around. She would go back inside if there was no wicked fairy to be found and go from there.

Rose pushed open one of the two giant front doors, and it gave an enormous creak of protest. She squinted in the morning light as it flooded into the grand ballroom and stepped tentatively out onto the smooth, hard rock outside the door. Though the front of the castle was still in the shade, the stone was warm on her bare feet. She took a few more steps and closed the front door behind her.

This land—what had Maleficent called it? The Dragon Country?—was exquisitely beautiful. The sky was the bluest Rose had ever seen, the clouds were the fluffiest and whitest, and the stone beneath her feet was smooth and almost shiny. The landscape was hilly and a short walk away, Rose could see the beginnings of mountains. In the other direction lay more hills covered in deep green grass and intensely colourful wildflowers.

There was something extremely disconcerting about the whole scene, and it suddenly occurred to Rose just what was wrong, and what had been wrong since her arrival: there was not a single sound.

There was no wind, and so there was no rustling of leaves or grass. There were no bird calls and no footsteps of little woodland creatures. There were no distant sounds of people's voices, though it was clearly late enough in the day for other people to be awake. The only sound Rose could hear was that of her own breathing, suddenly deafening in the utter stillness.

When Rose heard another sound, her heart skipped a beat and she jumped. Swift footsteps seemed to fall all around her, echoing off the mountains, filling her ears and dictating her heartbeat. Rose did not know what to do—she thought perhaps she should go back inside, but she was too frightened to move.

A woman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and Rose tried to scream, but it felt as though her voice were too hoarse to make any sound. She backed away slowly, but the woman kept approaching with heavy, sure steps. She was old. Her curly, chestnut brown hair was heavily streaked with grey, her face was lined, and there was a slight hunch to her back. The woman was taller than Rose, and a bit more full-figured. Her face was soft and kind, as were her brown eyes.

"Out of curiosity," said the woman, perhaps not kindly, but her voice was so warm that anything she said would have sounded kind. Rose did not dare relax. "what would you do if I attacked you right now?"

Rose blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Would you simply accept your fate and die, just like that? Or would you try to run? Or fight?"

"I—I don't—"

Suddenly, something very strange began to happen. The woman seemed to grow taller and more slender right before Rose's eyes. Her hair waved in the nonexistent wind and suddenly, a rush of black swept through the graying curls. An invisible source seemed to pour light forest green onto the woman's skin like a waterfall, and the stranger who was in many ways the exact opposite of Maleficent was suddenly Maleficent. Rose collapsed to her knees, utterly overwhelmed.

Gone was the gaunt, frail creature from King Stefan's dungeons. Maleficent wore an exquisitely beautiful purple dress with a long, flowing skirt and sleeves. There were no longer any scars on her face or arms, and her smooth, green skin seemed to glow, not with magic but with health in the morning sun. Her long, dark hair suddenly swept itself up and out of sight, replaced by a black and purple horned headdress.

"I suppose I ought to be glad you didn't invite me in," Maleficent said.

"You frightened me," Rose responded, swallowing.

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. "You act as though that were uncommon."

Rose bit her lip. "That's quite a talent."

Maleficent bowed her head and made a small flourish with her hand. "Why, thank you. It ought to be. I've spent all my life refining it. I hope you will take this the way I intend it: I really wouldn't advise you to wander around outside without my company."

Rose looked down and began to fidget. "I was afraid you might have abandoned me," she said without really considering it. But the words sounded so pathetic when they left her mouth that she instantly tried to backtrack. "I mean, that is…it's not as though I…I don't know where we are. And I don't exactly have a lot of survival skills." Feeble excuses at best. Rose felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

She heard Maleficent's footsteps approaching, for there was nothing else to hear. "As I mentioned to you yesterday morning when we arrived, this is the Dragon Country."

"Yes, but how far away from the Kingdom of the East is this? Wait…" Rose looked up, at last distracted from her shame. "Yesterday morning? I slept that long?"

"Well," Rose thought there might be a hint of mirth in Maleficent's tone, "you did have a rather eventful evening. We are quite far away from your kingdom. It would take a great deal of effort to reach this place from that without magic, and I doubt anyone would think to do so."

"Why did you think to come here?" asked Rose.

"I grew up here," Maleficent replied. "And it is rather lovely, isn't it? A bit warm for my taste."

"It is lovely," Rose agreed, and wondered whether she ought to say what discomfited her so. "And…very quiet."

Maleficent nodded, "You've noticed."

"Hard not to," Rose said quietly.

"As its name implies, this land used to be rife with dragons, but it seems that if there are any left, they are making themselves quite scarce."

"Dragons?" Rose repeated with interest. "I've only ever seen dragons in story books. Are they truly such fearsome creatures? And you lived among them as a child?"

A charming half-smile graced Maleficent's lovely features and she approached Rose and offered to help her up. For once, blinded by her curiosity, Rose did not hesitate to touch Maleficent's hand. "They are most certainly fearsome creatures, but they aren't necessarily malicious. Just because they are capable of great destruction does not mean they actively seek to inflict it."

The description seemed fitting of Maleficent in some ways, but Rose supposed that was not exactly accurate…Maleficent had, after all, actively sought to kill her until fairly recently. And then something struck Rose very suddenly. "You're a dragon," she blurted without preamble and then shook her head. "I mean..you can turn into one. So I've heard," she finished lamely.

The almost-smile returned, "You've heard correctly," she said, and offered her arm to Rose. Rose took it and they began walking toward the green hills. "And I'll have you know that if I had known about that damned enchanted Sword of Flora's, I would not have been defeated."

Rose averted her eyes and began to wring her hands nervously. The defeat of which Maleficent was speaking so nonchalantly was to Philip. If Maleficent hadn't been defeated...Rose swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Then Philip would be dead. And I'd still be cursed."

"And I wouldn't have a sword wound all the way through my chest. What's your point?"

"Why do you want to kill me?" Rose asked the grass at her feet.

A long silence followed. "I don't," Maleficent replied simply.

Rose looked up, eyes wide, but Maleficents expression was as unreadable as ever. "What?"

"If I wanted to kill you," said Maleficent, tilting her head and quirking one eyebrow, "you'd be dead."

Rose suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. She stared at Maleficent, mouth agape, unable to think of any response at all. Maleficent's eyes flickered down and back up. Rose shivered.

"Let's get you a proper dress," said Maleficent, turning towards the castle.

Rose trailed after her, thoughts in a whirl. It seemed unlikely that Maleficent had misunderstood her question, which meant that she had deliberately sidestepped it, or that she had blatantly lied. Talking or even thinking about the issue of her own near-demise made Rose queasy, and it had taken all of her courage to ask Maleficent once...she was not up to pressing the issue just now. Anyway, she rather doubted Maleficent was going to fetch her a proper dress simply to kill her in it, so she was probably safe for the moment.

As they reentered the castle and ascended the dilapidated staircase, Rose racked her brain for another topic of conversation. "Have you always been able to shapeshift?" she wondered.

"Not always," Maleficent replied. "But I was very young. I spent much time with the dragons. It is difficult to explain, but when I looked into their eyes, I felt as though I knew their souls. I saw myself in them, and then I became one of them."

Rose fiddled with the ragged material of her nightgown. "Is that how you always transform?"

"That was the way the ability showed itself in me. After many years of practice, I can transform into almost anything I've seen."

The next question left Rose's mouth before she had time to consider it. "Was your entire family able to shapeshift?"

Maleficent stopped walking at the top of the staircase, just for a second, but then continued as though nothing had happened. "I wouldn't know about my father—it's actually quite probable. My mother and sisters could not, but I've always wondered if my middle sister might have learned, given more time."

Maleficent led her past the room where she had slept the previous night and to another doorway down the hall, which was occupied by a very large and vicious-looking spider. Aurora could clearly see its eight fuzzy legs and its red eyes.

"Pardon us," she said to the spider with a courteous nod of her head. The spider appeared to bow and then pulled itself out of the doorway and completely out of sight. Maleficent ducked her head to avoid the spider's web and Rose stood completely still, dumb-struck by what she had just witnessed. Maleficent watched her from the other side of the web and, after a moment, said, "Come along," as though Rose were a child. Embarrassed, she immediately ducked as far over as she could and walked under the spider's web. Once she was inside, the spider lowered itself back into the web and continued whatever it had been doing previously.

"It's only a tarantula. It isn't going to attack you," Maleficent said, amused, and turned the paralyzed Rose away from the doorframe.

This room was very different from the one in which she had slept. The colour scheme was all orange and red, and hardly faded at all. It was not neatly kept. If one did not notice the thin layer of dust that had settled over everything, one would think that the room's occupant had just left for some sort of big event after frantically searching the room for things she needed.

Maleficent walked over to the chest of drawers and opened one in the middle. She searched around a bit and then drew out a deep red dress and held it out to Rose. "Not your usual style, I'm sure, but this is the least eccentric thing my eldest sister ever owned. You're welcome to try the room where you slept or my old room, but I imagine we were too young when we left to have anything that would fit you."

Rose took the dress. "Thank you," she said, feeling very uncomfortable. This was Maleficent's dead sister's dress. She had slept in Maleficent's other dead sister's bed. How dreadfully tragic. She made very intense eye contact with the floor, for her interactions with Maleficent so far told her very clearly how Maleficent would react to the pity in her eyes.

"I must be off. There's much I'd like to do before the day is out. I'll leave something for you to eat, and I'll be back in a few hours," Maleficent said briskly. She excused herself to the spider once more and ducked out of the room, but then she turned back. "I know you must be very tired of people telling you what to do, and I am not telling you not to go outside, just…" she glanced down and up again, the only subtle sign of her discomfort, "…please do be careful."

And then she was gone, and Rose was left alone with the well-mannered tarantula.

It felt delightful to change out of her dirty nightgown. The red dress fit her loosely and the neckline was far lower than Rose was comfortable wearing. She thought at first that Maleficent's eldest sister must have been taller than Rose, which would make sense, given Maleficent's uncommon tallness, but the waistline fell at her waist and the dress did not drag on the floor, and so Rose decided that this girl must simply have been far curvier than Rose was.

She shifted the dress back on her shoulders in a vain attempt to hide her cleavage as she wandered around the room in search of shoes. She didn't normally mind going barefoot, but the floors of this castle were so dirty and uneven, she feared she might get a bit of stone or something worse stuck in her foot. She found a pair of leather shoes which were only a little too big for her under a pile of clothes on the bed.

"Excuse me again," she said to the spider, who obliged by moving out of her way. She ducked, still feeling very queasy, and exited the room without incident. "Thank you," she said to the spider, who made that bowing movement once more.

Outside of Maleficent's eldest sister's room, Rose realized that she had nowhere to be and no one to find. Maleficent had not forbidden her to leave, or told her not to go too far, or not to speak to strangers. She had only mentioned that it might not be safe outside and asked that Rose be careful.

How delightfully odd.

Rose decided first to explore the other rooms on this floor, now that she knew the numerous spiders occupying the doorways were not mindlessly vicious. She passed one room that was ostensibly empty but for a family of rats, then the room where she had slept, another mostly empty room, and then a room which still had most of its door. She knocked for no particular reason, felt rather silly about it, and then opened the door.

The walls of this room were a grayish burgundy, and the furniture was generally much bigger and more lavish than that of the other two rooms. This room was also messy, as though its occupant had been going somewhere in a hurry.

There were no books anywhere to be found, but there was a very long scroll of paper draped across a desk and rolling down onto the floor with very messy handwriting all over it. Rose leaned in to try to read it, but she couldn't make anything out. She was not a good reader to begin with and the handwriting was really terrible—the words never really seemed to end; they ran into one another, and there were huge blue-black ink blots everywhere, but Rose also got the feeling that the words might be in another language. This woman's clothes—very few in the closet, most on the floor—were similar in style to that of the eldest sister. They were lavish, elaborate, and revealing, all in warm colours.

Rose exited this confusing room and continued down the hall.

The next room she came to which had anything of substance in it was another bedroom, guarded by a very creepy, but comparatively small brown spider. Rose's breath hitched as she peeked past the web into the room, for she knew almost instinctively to whom it belonged.

"Pardon me," she said to the spider, who was hanging directly in front of her face. The spider froze for a moment and then pulled itself up out of Rose's path. She ducked her head slightly and stepped into the room.

Every detail of this room screamed Maleficent. The walls were a faded sea green, as were the bedclothes. There was a table by the bed and a desk on the right, and both were piled high with books of every shape and size. There were no clothes on the floor in this room—indeed, there was no dust and no sign of life aside from the spider in the doorframe. The clothes hanging in the closet were all just as exquisitely made as all of the clothes Rose had seen so far. Rose held one of them out. Though they were clearly made for a figureless child, they were still very long. She tried to imagine a young Maleficent, a gangly, awkward youth, and could not fathom such a thing.

Rose ran her hand over the bedsheets idly. She supposed Maleficent must have slept here a couple of nights by now. She doubted Maleficent would allow herself to sleep late, let alone into the next morning. Though she seemed in general to be all grace and refinement and soft-spokenness, Rose had already twice witnessed how high-strung she really must be to lash out so dramatically at a mere comforting touch.

What had happened here a century ago, Rose wondered? What had become of Maleficent's older sisters, or of her mother, or of her father whom she had never known?

Could it be that Rose and Maleficent had something in common? That they had both lost everything they'd ever known before they'd even truly known it?

Well, good luck getting Maleficent to see that, Rose thought, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She felt sleepy and slightly dizzy again, an after-effect of the Sleeping Curse, and this served as a reminder of the precarious situation she was in. Still, in their brief encounter, Rose was beginning to see in Maleficent, far more than the embodiment of pure evil, an extremely guarded, lonely person who might benefit from talking about the problems which so obviously plagued her past.

Rose very much doubted she was the person for the job of pulling such information out of Maleficent, and yet, she had little else to do. There was no way she was going back to being Princess Aurora anytime soon, not when she had just begun to experience what it was not to have to pretend to be someone else.

Then again, would Maleficent take her back to King Stefan's castle if she asked? Had she truly freed herself by running away with the enemy, or had she merely handed over her chains to a new, and far less predictable, keeper?

Rose's stomach was churning and she picked up a pillow and clutched it against her, willing herself to calm down. She longed for a person who might offer her real solace, but here or back in what was to be her new home, that still wouldn't be possible.

Until recently, Rose had led a very pleasant life, but it had very often been a lonely one, and never more lonely than when Rose began to grow up, to long for new places to explore, new people to meet. More than anything, Rose longed to meet someone who understood even a fraction of the things she felt. Failing that, she would settle for someone who simply listened to her, really listened to the things she said, and did not judge or condescend.

This, she supposed, was how Maleficent had so easily won her over.

Oh, and Maleficent must have known immediately. She must have seen Rose's very soul with one glance, just as she did the dragons and that kind-eyed old woman whose identity she stole. And she must have thought, all this girl needs is a listening ear, even for a few seconds, and she will do whatever I ask.

After this point in the story, however, the three Good Fairies' accusations against Maleficent as 'pure evil' fell short. If Maleficent were pure evil, she would have manipulated Rose into freeing her, and then she would have had no qualms about disposing of Rose as she saw fit.

As it stood, however, she had honoured her promise—a life for a life. Perhaps Maleficent had lied. Perhaps she still wanted Rose dead. It was not unlikely. However, if what she said while still in chains was true, Maleficent did not feel that it was right to kill Rose when Rose had spared her life.

That did not seem like pure evil to Rose. That seemed quite noble.

"Briar Rose."

Rose did not know when she had fallen asleep. She sat up abruptly, embarrassed that she had been caught lying in Maleficent's bed, and she was hit by a wave of groggy dizziness that made her swoon. When her vision cleared, she saw Maleficent standing just inside the doorway, hands folded in front of her body, expression aloof.

"I found something you might like to see," she said. "Do you feel well enough for a walk?"

Rose nodded dumbly and lit from the bed, smoothing the covers and replacing the pillow she had clutched so fiercely in her slumber. Maleficent led the way out of the room, ducking under the spider, who was also enjoying a midday nap, and back down the stairs.

As it turned out, it was no longer midday. The sun hung quite low in the sky, and it made the Dragon Country even more beautiful. Each hill with its mass of wildflowers was bathed in rich golden light, accented by shadow. Instead of walking towards the colourful hills, though, Maleficent led Rose toward the mountains.

"I've had quite a frustrating day," said Malefricent conversationally. "the Kingdom Between Two Rivers has had such a long Golden Age of Prosperity that no one even seems to remember the hard times of the last century."

Rose understood little of what Maleficent was saying. "Golden Age of Prosperity? What does that mean?"

"That is the term for the time that follows after a resident wicked fairy has been defeated. I suppose the Kingdom of the East has not dared declare such a time just yet."

Rose was not certain what to say about that. She swallowed uncomfortably.

"The other thing that troubles me is that they are all so young. I did not expect to acquire any useful information from anyone younger than the middle-aged woman I pretended to be in their presence, but I simply could not find anyone older."

"That is odd," Rose nodded. She felt that most of the people in her own kingdom were rather old, or at least older than she. There were some small children, she supposed, but even Philip was a few years her senior, and he was truly from the Kingdom of the North, not the East. "But if there were such hard times, perhaps it was difficult to live for a long time."

"Perhaps," said Maleficent. "But even in the hardest of times, there are usually survivors. It is possible that there are worse fates than death, but to die is never to know what could have been. One should never underestimate any creature's will to survive."

This comment, so relevant to the recent events of Maleficent's own life, caused Rose's heart physical pain, and she clutched her chest in surprise.

They were now at the edge of the mountains, and Maleficent offered her arm to Rose as they began to walk a winding path into them. Rose too her arm carefully, wary of being violently thrown off again, but nothing happened, and as the path became steeper, Rose was glad of the support. Rose could not tell where the path led, for it seemed that every few steps, the path curved in a new direction.

"What was it like here…a century ago?" Rose dared to ask. Her tone was hushed, and yet in the crushing silence, it seemed to echo off of every mountain, to fill the vast sky above them with the audacity of the question. A century ago. Rose could not even conceive of such a thing.

"What was it like?" Maleficent repeated quietly. "Unpredictable," she said after a moment. "Wild. Loud. If we wanted to leave the castle, we had to be prepared to fight to the death. People—fairies and humans—tried to break in all the time. Wicked fairies enchanted humans to fight one another. Good fairies enchanted humans to fight the wicked fairies. My mother enchanted the dragons to protect us…or only her, I suppose."

"Why—"

"We're almost there," Maleficent said, clearly cutting off her question. Rose narrowly avoided sighing. She was definitely not cut out for getting Maleficent to talk.

Maleficent led Rose around a large mass of rock. On the other side, there was a huge, gaping cavern. It was so dark that Rose could not see in at all, and it was at least five times Rose's height. Maleficent walked toward it, but Rose hesitated.

"What if there's something in there?"

The corners of Maleficent's mouth turned up into a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile, and her eyes twinkled in the warm light of the sunset. Rose's breath hitched and she suddenly found it difficult to swallow. That Maleficent was uncommonly beautiful was often overshadowed by how frightening she was. Yet, in this instant, Rose saw only her beauty, as though she were any other person, and not one capable of such destruction...and the absurdity of the notion that Maleficent could be just any other person caused Rose to shiver.

Rose glanced over at the cave nervously. She felt Maleficent's hand on the middle of her back and a chill shot up her spine. She grasped Maleficent's arm tightly for support as Maleficent led her into the overwhelming darkness.

Rose could not see anything, and this, unfortunately, made her even more acutely aware of Maleficent's presence next to her. She could feel the subtle warmth radiating off of her body, the gentle touch of each long, elegant finger on her back, the lean muscle of the arm Rose was grasping for dear life. She could hear Maleficent's quiet, slow breathing and she could feel it against the top of her head. Maleficent could kill her, right now, she reminded herself. Her hands began to shake, but the only thing there was for her to cling to was the very person who engendered her fear.

Then, suddenly, Rose heard something else, a faint rustling which caused her stomach to twist. Perhaps it was an entire family of malicious spiders, or a hundred rats, or bats, even. She had no way of knowing what kind of creatures lived in this country.

She felt just the faintest wisp of warm breath right next to her ear. "It's all right," Maleficent murmured, her low, resonant voice flooding Rose's very heart.

 _Touch the spindle_ , murmured the same voice, and despite the terror that gripped her heart, Rose was powerless to disobey. At that moment, Rose would have followed her anywhere, done anything that voice told her to, trusted Maleficent with her life.

Maleficent drew herself up to her full height, thereby distancing herself from Rose's ear, and then she made a small clicking noise. The rustling stopped and was replaced by small, scurrying footsteps.

The creature that emerged from nowhere in the darkness had glowing greenish-yellow eyes which illuminated enough of its face for Rose to see that it was scaly and had some sort of snout. When it blinked, it disappeared completely.

"You're going to have to come around, I think," said Maleficent, and just as Rose was going to ask what she meant, the scurrying footsteps picked back up and the creature moved past Maleficent to stand in the light coming from the entrance to the cave.

The dragon was tiny, the size of a small dog or a large rabbit. It looked exactly as dragons looked in storybooks—a round body over short legs with devastatingly sharp claws, a long neck, a long, muscular tail, and a reptilian head—but it was so small! Its scales were dark green and it had two tiny little wings which had a faint purple tint. The baby dragon stretched out its neck and held its head high, aloof and haughty as Maleficent, the dragon in disguise. It took a deep, luxurious breath, reared its head back, and blew out a steady stream of fire which threw colourful sparks and filled the entire cave with warmth and light.

"He's showing off for you," said Maleficent softly.

Rose could not breathe. She could not move, and yet she felt a gentle hand on her back guiding her forward on legs which could barely hold her upright. She glanced up to Maleficent, utterly at a loss. Maleficent, whose face was masked in shadow, nodded in what Rose took to be an encouraging manner, and Rose dared to step forward of her own volition.

The dragon turned its head to face her, as if to say,  _how impressive am I?_  and suddenly Rose felt a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knelt down so that she was on eye level with the dragon and reached out her hand. "May I?" she asked, her voice breaking.

The dragon eyed her with a tilt of his head, and Rose was stricken by the intensity of those luminous eyes. Finally he seemed to decide in her favour, however, for he took a few steps toward her and bowed his head beneath her hand.

She touched the scales on the top of his head reverently. She could not possibly have imagined before now what scales would feel like. She examined the small ridge at the top of his head which protected the bones in his long neck. She ran her hand down his neck and felt the powerful muscles shift slightly as he kept his eyes trained on her. Such a small, youthful creature, and yet he was so distrustful. How old must he be? What horrors must he have known? Did he have a family?

Rose retracted her hand at this thought and brought it to her chest. "Thank you," she said softly, and the dragon retreated to Maleficent's side.

Rose felt a warm presence beside her on the cold stone floor and turned to see Maleficent kneeling beside her. "As far as he knows, he is the last of his kind here."

Rose could think of nothing to say, nothing to ask.

"There used to be hundreds—perhaps thousands of them," Maleficent continued, and Rose noted that her voice, that voice which could bend a soul to its will, sounded strangely hollow. Rose squinted in the dim light and found that Maleficent was not even looking at her. She was looking at the entrance to the cave, at the fast-fading light, at nothing.

"All gone. And it must have been very recent. He barely remembers an explosion or a storm of some sort, and that the elders became ill, and then the other children…" Maleficent sighed. "Dragons have such long lives. I expected that they were only in hiding, that once I found them I might…"

Rose's first impulse was to reach out and touch Maleficent's shoulder, but she knew that would not end well for her. She sat still and waited, hoping that Maleficent would continue to speak if Rose remained quiet.

"I feel…" Maleficent breathed in slowly. "I feel alone. Empty." She was silent for another moment, and then added, "I feel as though a large part of me is missing."

 _We have that in common_ , Rose wanted to say, and yet she supposed she didn't know the half of it. She hadn't really lost her family or her childhood, after all...not irrevocably. All of the people she loved and cared for were still alive.

They were probably searching for her, Rose thought with a pang of guilt. They were probably worried about her. They probably thought she'd been kidnapped...perhaps killed, as Rose, herself, feared.

Rose shook her head and pushed these thoughts away the best she could, and she did not try to tell Maleficent that they were one and the same, because of course they weren't. She crawled around so that she was face to face with Maleficent, looking her directly in those black eyes, now glazed over with an unspeakable sadness. Rose raised both of her hands so that Maleficent could clearly see them and placed them on either side of Maleficent's face. Maleficent's eyes widened slightly, but she did not lash out or pull away.

She considered telling Maleficent that she wasn't alone, not anymore, but this, too, fell short in her mind. These words would mean nothing to Maleficent. Maleficent was alone. She had been for a very long time—perhaps for a century, several times Rose's own lifetime. One stupid, selfish little girl sitting here stupidly with her arms outstretched wasn't going to change that.

Rose was stricken by the desire to embrace the untouchable woman kneeling before her, to curl up next to her until she felt the warmth, even if it took years. But of course that was no way to go about anything. This woman she saw before her, whom no one believed to be capable of love, whose eyes shone with the faintest glimmer of fear at Rose's touch—this woman would not understand such an action.

Maleficent would hate Rose's pity. She would not understand her affection. She would lash out against her attempts to comfort. And why shouldn't she? Who was Rose to her? Perhaps she was barely restraining herself from snapping Rose's neck right on the spot. This thought caused Rose to withdraw her hands as she continued to struggle for something to say.

Rose heard the faint rustling of the young dragon a small distance away from them as he settled in for the night. She thought of what Maleficent had said—that as a young child, she had looked into the eyes of such a creature and known its soul. "He's…magnificent," she whispered.

If Rose weren't a breath away from Maleficent, she would not have seen her brow furrow, her eyes gloss over with confusion for an instant, for the instant passed as quickly as it had come, and Maleficent gave her a small, cautious smile. "I thought you'd like him."

"We'll fix it," said Rose firmly, hoping Maleficent would understand what she could not put into words. "We've got to fix it." She'd gotten herself into this mess, and despite the guilt beginning to nag at the back of her mind, she would not and could not go back. Her problems were not solvable at the moment. What she could do was to try to help Maleficent, to try to understand her in some small way. Perhaps if she could manage this, she would feel less like a frightened child and more like...well, if not a friend, then an ally.

And somehow she felt that Maleficent did understand, for there was no confusion in her eyes. She looked as though there was much she would like to say, but she decided instead upon a curt nod. "Yes," she agreed simply.

Rose smiled and reached out her arms once more. A foolish move, perhaps, but Rose felt oddly certain that the woman kneeling before her was not the same one who wished her harm. Still moving painstakingly slowly, Rose settled herself against Maleficent's stiff, angular frame and waited—most probably to be removed, be it politely or with the harsh sting of magic.

Rose waited for quite some time. At last, Maleficent's arms moved. Rose did not move, for she wanted to savour this closeness for as long as it would last. It felt as though it had been forever since she had been so close to anyone, and it felt like a rare and delightful treat to be allowed so close to Maleficent at all.

Stiff arms placed themselves cautiously around Rose's shoulders in an embrace which was almost awkward. Perhaps Maleficent longed for comfort as much as Rose did. Perhaps they had more in common than she thought. Rose bit her lip, trying at once to suppress a foolish grin and the urge to throw her arms about Maleficent from sheer joy at this minor victory. Instead, she placed her arms equally carefully around Maleficent's waist, resettled herself so that she was comfortable, and then stayed as still as she could as the last rays of light disappeared and the cave faded into complete darkness.

The last thing she heard was the slow, steady breathing of sleep, and she could not be certain whether it was the young dragon or the wicked fairy.


	4. The Unknown

Queen Leah was devastated.

She knew very well why she felt so hopeless. For a few short weeks, she had dared to believe that everything would be all right, that everything had finally worked out, and that the whole affair was over.

She should have known better than to dream. She had been warned all her life not to deal with magical creatures. They weren't human—they did not play by the same rules that humans did. They did not show mercy as humans did. They did not forget, and, unlike most humans, they had the means to exact terrible revenge when their demands were not met.

And yet, at the time, it had been the only option.

Stefan was a kind man. Too kind. In another lifetime, Leah would have broken his heart. But in this life, where she had backed herself into so many corners and tried so hard to claw her way out, Stefan had taken her in as his wife. She was eternally in his debt, for she knew what would have awaited her had she remained in her own kingdom. She would have died alone, a disgrace to her family. No man would have taken her for any noble reason, even despite her legendary beauty. She had made too many mistakes. She would not have been given another chance.

The marriage should have been a favour to both of them. Leah could start anew with almost no chance of her shameful secret getting out, and Stefan could marry a woman of noble blood who was close to his own age and who could still bear children.

Good, gentle Stefan blamed himself. She saw the look in his eyes, the way they slowly lost their shine, the way his posture gradually sagged and slumped. One night, shortly after the two year anniversary of their marriage, as they lay together in the dark, Leah heard Stefan begin to speak softly. "I am so sorry, my Leah," he said. "I have failed you as a husband. I have failed as a man. You are so healthy and so beautiful...and I am defective. I cannot give you a child. I cannot give our kingdom an heir to the throne."

Leah began to weep and clasped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately to remain silent. His words caused her heart to ache, for she knew that it could not be his fault. She was certain that he could give any other woman a child with no trouble. The worst of it was that if he were any other man, he would have already done so. There were a fair amount of good-looking common girls working in the castle. She had even seen a pretty blonde tending the gardens the other day. Stefan's good friend King Hubert of the North would certainly not have waited for two years to call upon that blonde for assistance in this matter.

Stefan needed an heir. There were so few young people in the Kingdom of the East as it was. Stefan was, himself, relatively young, but it wouldn't do to have a child much later than now. Aside from that, what if something happened to Stefan? Leah was not fit to rule at all. One of Stefan's advisors would take over, or another kingdom would take over, or…heaven knew what would happen.

Leah felt Stefan's fingers stroking her hair, just the little bit at the temple, and her quiet weeping turned into wracking sobs that she could not contain. She curled up into a ball and all but threw herself at Stefan, who let out a small noise of surprise and obligingly wrapped his arms around her. "Shhh," he whispered into her hair. "You mustn't cry, my wife. I didn't mean to upset you. It is my shortcoming, not yours."

Leah wrapped her arms around Stefan's bare chest and squeezed him tightly, unable to control her sobs enough to speak the words she knew she must.

When she was introduced to Stefan a little over two years before, she had been ever so slightly repulsed by him. He wasn't particularly attractive—he had a plain face which he attempted to disguise with a lot of facial hair. Their wedding night had been awkward at best, and she had for some time avoided having marital relations with him when possible.

It wasn't as though Stefan ever forced himself upon her. He mostly just awkwardly made it clear that he was interested if she was, and more often than not she felt it would be rude to decline. What Stefan lacked in looks, he made up in goodness, honour, and kindness. Stefan was a man of strong morals. He believed strongly in the power of truth. He believed that good would always triumph over evil. Stefan was unfailingly gentlemanly and kind to Leah, and Leah seldom saw a reason to turn him away simply because she did not want him.

She had wanted all of those men in her kingdom and what had that gotten her?

One day, while they were speaking, Leah began to examine his eyes. They were nice—perhaps the most attractive thing about him. They were bright blue and they reflected all of the things he believed in. They were kind and strong and good. Leah did not remember what he had been talking about. She did not remember the specific day, what he had been wearing, or what the weather was like outside. But after that day, Leah had begun to love Stefan, and some time after she began to love him, she began to feel some desire for him. It was nothing like what she had felt before. It did not consume her thoughts or set her body on fire. It was borne of a great trust and respect for him that she desired closeness with him. And she decided that this feeling was in many ways more valuable than the other.

Now their nakedness did not feel awkward or disgusting to her anymore. She felt close to him, as close as she could be, given her long list of lies.

"Do you know Madeleine?" she asked, attempting to sound casual.

She felt Stefan's head shift to look down at her, "The little blonde maid? That Madeleine?"

"Yes, her," Leah swallowed.

"Why?"

_Because you need an heir and I cannot give you one. Because it isn't your fault. Because I am not who you think I am. Because you are so good. You are too good for me._

"She's a quiet, lonely girl," whispered Leah. "No one would ever know."

Stefan pulled Leah up to face him, "Leah," he said, surprised. "How could you ever think I would betray you in such a way?"

Tears began streaming anew over Leah's nose and down her left cheek. She shifted so that she could put her hands on either side of Stefan's face, and she told him something she had never dared to tell him before. "Oh, Stefan, I love you so, so very much."

The next day, Leah had awoken feeling even more miserable than before. She had moped about the castle all morning long, unable to consider what Stefan had obviously accepted—they they would not have an heir to the throne.

Around noon, though, word had arrived that a band of criminals who had been terrorizing Hubert's kingdom had finally been captured, and that they were claiming that Mistress Maleficent, the wicked fairy who resided in the Forbidden Mountains about a day's ride away, had influenced their misdeeds. Maleficent had been summoned to the Kingdom of the North for questioning and had denied any involvement.

What the report had probably neglected to mention was that, upon being summoned, Maleficent had most likely piddled about her home doing whatever it was she did for a few minutes, dusted off her hands, snapped her fingers and appeared right in Hubert's sitting room accompanied by a puff of green smoke. She had probably brandished her staff while asking what the allegations against her could possibly be and waved her hand dismissively over it, conjuring the faintest aura of magic as she denied any involvement in such matters. She also probably politely expressed her shock at being accused of such a thing.

Leah knew this without ever having laid eyes on Maleficent, for Stefan had told her that this was the way every meeting with the wicked fairy went. She was exceedingly terrifying and also exceedingly polite, which only added to the general feeling of unease she engendered. Maleficent was very powerful and very smart. All the good fairies in the land couldn't defeat her, and everyone knew it. Maleficent made it very clear that she could do anything if she wanted to.

The most terrifying thing about her, though, was that she did not seem to want to do anything.

Few people had ever truly laid eyes upon her. If she did not keep to herself in the Forbidden Mountain, then she did a very good job of hiding. There were rumours that she was a shapeshifter and could assume any form, but this had not been expressly proven at the time (and indeed would not be confirmed until about seventeen years later). There were endless rumours that she was the cause of all the evil in the land, but even when a special committee of officers accompanied by a small army called on her simply to monitor her activity, she was invariably reported to be at home and engaging in some innocuous activity such as reading a book.

And this was why she haunted the nightmares of every person in the land. She was so powerful that she did not need to prove her power. She simply put on an act of spooking people, let the rumours fly, and then went about her merry way. Beware the sleeping dragon, as the saying went.

One of the rumours was that Maleficent could do anything with her magic. And on this particular day, Leah began to wonder if Maleficent's services could be bought.

What followed was a story anyone could guess. When the witch gives you instructions, you follow them to the letter, or else you end up with a tragedy on your hands.

But it wasn't all that simple. How does one explain to one's husband,  _oh, darling, we simply must invite the scourge of the three kingdoms_?

Why did Maleficent even want to be invited to the child's christening? Was she really that lonely? She must have intended to curse the child from the start, invitation or no. At least, that was what Leah had tried to convince herself for about seventeen years.

Leah had tried. She and Stefan had been called in to approve every single person on the guest list, which was the entire kingdom, most of Hubert's, and the important people from Gavin's kingdom in the West, from whence Leah hailed. And after the man writing the list had read every last name, Leah had asked quietly, "What about Mistress Maleficent?"

The man's jaw had dropped. Stefan's would have, too, were he not so well-versed in etiquette. "Leah, why would you say such a thing?"

"I…" she tried to think of something reasonable to say "I only think…well, we've invited everyone in the kingdom, and everyone from Hubert's kingdom, and even some people from Gavin's kingdom. And…and you cannot deny that Maleficent is a very…powerful person. It would be quite a slight simply not to invite her."

"We most certainly can deny that Maleficent has any power at all. The only reason she holds any power is because we allow her to. As far as I can tell, she has never done anything to demonstrate that power."

"But—but wouldn't not inviting her to such an important event only serve to make her angry? She might do something terrible."

Stefan shook his head firmly, "Leah, as I have just said, my opinion is that she does not actually have the capability to do anything truly terrible. I will not allow that fiend near our child. I will not allow her to ruin our happy day."

Leah even went so far as to ask that Stefan consult the three good fairies who advised him, Mistresses Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. Surely they would have some insight into the true nature of Maleficent's power—that is to say, they would validate her fears. But the fairies agreed with Stefan. Maleficent should not be allowed near the child. They understood—or thought they understood—how precious baby Aurora was to Stefan and Leah. As far as they knew, Aurora was a miracle from God, not from the Devil, herself.

But Leah had trusted the judgement of the three good fairies. They were centuries old and had never steered Stefan wrong before. Leah would have trusted them with her life. She did trust them with the life of her daughter. If they said that taking Aurora and hiding her in the forest was the only way to keep her safe from Maleficent, then it was the only way.

Everything seemed to have gone according to plan. Aurora had come down the stairs on Philip's arm just as planned. Every eye in the room had turned to her to witness her ethereal beauty for the first time. Leah had loved her just as though she had known her for sixteen years. Aurora did not seem like a perfect stranger to Leah. Leah felt her presence, as though Aurora brought back with her a piece of Leah which had been missing all those years. And she had thought perhaps Aurora understood it, too, for Aurora had embraced her as though she knew.

Over the next few days, though, everything had begun to come apart.

Aurora was quiet. Soft-spoken. She was polite, certainly, and kind, but she did not always seem to know what was going on around her. She sometimes did not understand what was said to her, or drifted away from the material world mid-sentence.

People began to whisper and Leah became concerned. But the good fairies assured her that Aurora was only recovering from a bout with very powerful dark magic. She needed her rest. She could not have too many visitors. She must recover. And as she always did, Leah took them at their word.

As the days went by, Leah noticed that when Aurora was paying attention, which was not very often, she had a sort of pained expression. She looked uncomfortable, unhappy. Leah wanted to reach out to her. She wanted to know what her daughter's life had been like. She wanted to know what the past few days had been like for her. But when Leah expressed these wishes to Stefan, he replied, "I know, my love, and I do, too. But the Good Fairies insist that Aurora cannot have too many visitors. Leave her to Philip for awhile longer. He's a fine boy. I'm certain that he has talked to her about her life and her time here."

Leah was not certain at all. Philip was Hubert's son, and Hubert…Hubert was not as good of a man as Stefan was, to say the least, especially where women were concerned. But Hubert was Stefan's best and only friend. Stefan would hear no ill of him.

Leah wished she had spoken ill of Hubert. What did it matter now? Aurora was gone. And this time, she was not safe in the care of the good fairies. She had been taken captive by Maleficent. As Leah understood it, Maleficent had, bound and chained and with limited magic, manipulated Aurora into freeing her. And then she had disappeared, taking Leah's daughter with her.

What good was anything now? What were the last sixteen years of anguish? Had Aurora really been safe at all? Was Aurora doomed to a life of secrecy, of constantly being chased and imprisoned? Did Aurora even know? Did she understand why all of this was happening? Had Maleficent told Aurora Leah's shameful secret? Did Aurora believe her?

Or had Maleficent already killed Aurora as she had planned to do all along?

Not knowing was agonizing.

* * *

If Briar Rose had hoped she might have made some sort of a breakthrough where Maleficent was concerned, she would have been sorely mistaken.

On the contrary, she seemed to have taken a step back. Rose didn't think Maleficent could be any more stiff or formal, but on the morning after what Rose had believed to be a beautiful moment of connection and understanding, Maleficent had somehow managed it. She barely spoke at all, and though she did not go so far as to address Rose as Princess Aurora, she settled upon calling her Your Highness if she called her anything at all.

The next day and on all of the days following, she began leaving before Rose awoke and returning after nightfall, obviously hoping to find Rose asleep. Once she caught on, Rose did not know what to make of this. Was Maleficent truly avoiding her? At worst, Rose had expected to be thrown out into the wild unknown for her actions. At best, she'd dared to hope for grudging tolerance. This was baffling.

Loneliness quickly consumed her. After Maleficent's words regarding the questionable safety of the outside world, Rose hesitated to disobey, and she was absolutely certain she'd never find her way back to the cave where the baby dragon lived. Rose began to wait up for Maleficent. To pass the time, she selected the least threatening book she could find and spent her evenings stumbling over the unfamiliar words—many of which were gibberish magic spells she could never hope to understand.

Maleficent always entered through the kitchen door, which did not make the ear-splitting screech of the front door. Upon seeing Rose, she always said some variation of, "It's rather late. Don't you need your rest?" No comment on the book Rose was attempting to read, no information about her day, and her tone was cold. She did not want to talk.

It made Rose's heart ache, so much that she did not have the wherewithal to offer up any conversation in response. She simply nodded her agreement, clutched her book to her chest, and went upstairs to bed. Apparently there was no pleasing Rose. Would she truly prefer Maleficent's imminently dangerous and terrifying volatile to her innocuous absence?

Some time passed in this way. Since she had so much time to do so, Rose finally found a book she could actually read. She had overlooked it at first because the title was so long and because she didn't know one of the words in it:  _The Biography of Mistress Acacia of the Kingdom by the Sea_ , written by Mistress Kinsale of the Kingdom of Hill and Valley. Rose supposed that a biography must simply be a story of a person's life, or in this case, a wicked fairy's life, for that seemed to be the only purpose of this book.

Acacia was born to Mistress Cordelia, who, legend has it, was born from the sea when the world began. The author noted that that was unlikely, but that she could not find any records to disprove the legend. Mistress Cordelia wanted the people of the Kingdom by the Sea to believe in the legend, and so it was more likely than not that she had destroyed any evidence of her parents.

At any rate, Mistress Cordelia had lived for a very long time. She had scores of children scattered about the earth, most of whom died rather young. Acacia was her last child, for only a few years after she was born, a band of good fairies led by Mistress Sara enchanted all the beasts of the field and forest to rise up against Cordelia.

Cordelia was defeated, but at a great cost—the battle had killed almost all of the animals in the kingdom. The author noted that no one blamed the good fairies for this misfortune.

When Rose grew weary of reading the story, she read about the author, Mistress Kinsale. Mistress Kinsale was a wicked fairy, herself, who resided in the Land of Hill and Valley. Her mother was Mistress Dalia, and she had—these were the actual words—"no sisters, only four brothers." Rose found that bit to be very odd.

Rose had lost track of the days, but some time must have passed, for she actually began to enjoy reading. She was reading about how, after a few years had passed, "for humans are very forgetful in their transience," whatever that meant, the people of the Hill and Valley kingdoms had begun to blame Acacia for their barren lands. She did not quite understand this bit—Acacia was still living in her mother's home, but she had not taken the title and responsibilities of Mistress of Evil…something…Rose had so many questions she would like to ask Maleficent.

"Good evening, Briar Rose," said Maleficent, but Rose was distracted by her book.

"What does transience mean?"

After perhaps a few minutes passed without response, Rose looked up. Maleficent stood closer to her than she had in over a week, which was still halfway across the room. Her hands were folded in front of her atop what appeared to be a staff with some sort of glass ball on the top of it.

"Something that is transient is brief, fleeting. It does not last."

Rose felt uncomfortable. Awkward. She wanted to go up to bed and hide under the covers. She had spent all of this time alone and in silence, and she had, in her desperation for company, managed to forget how intimidating Maleficent was. What was more, she had forgotten how unreadable her expression was, how intense her eyes… But hiding would be the move of a cowardly child. Perhaps Rose had lost ground with Maleficent, but if that was the case, she must simply start all over again.

She decided to focus on the book, since she was too cowardly to make real conversation. "'Humans are forgetful in their transience.' Humans are brief and fleeting and don't last and so they are forgetful? I still don't understand."

"Is that Mistress Acacia?" Maleficent asked, taking a step forward. Rose nodded. "I remember being fond of that phrase. The humans forgot all about the great war between Mistress Cordelia and Mistress Sara's enchanted animals and they blamed Acacia for their food shortage, though she was only a young girl who had barely even learned to use her magic."

"Right, I understood that bit."

"But?"

"But…how could everyone have forgotten?"

"To the humans, it must have seemed like a very long time passed. Almost three decades. The lifetime of a human seems very short to a wicked fairy—humans are transient."

"Oh," Rose breathed as she considered this.

"It's an interesting phrase—quite diplomatic. Many wicked fairies villainize humans in their writing. They're always very careful about how they portray good fairies, but humans are usually portrayed as stupid, cruel, brutish creatures. Mistress Kinsale is a fascinating woman. Perhaps in part because she had no sisters."

"I meant to ask about that, as well," said Rose. She consciously tried to relax her shoulders as she spoke—it appeared that Maleficent was finally willing to talk to her again. Perhaps they could continue as though nothing had happened. "The way it's written, it's as though brothers are…I don't know…unimportant. As though having no sisters is unusual…maybe bad."

Maleficent surprised her by coming to sit down in the chair across from her sofa. She leaned her staff against the chair as she spoke. "One key difference between humans and fairies is that men are not regarded as the pillars of society. They aren't scorned or treated as second-class citizens, but they are nomadic creatures and rarely stay in one place for very long. As such, they rarely hold dominion over anything, keep records of themselves or their travels, et cetera. Do you follow?"

Rose nodded. "But then how do all of these wicked fairies have so many siblings? Are they all-" she gasped as the thought occurred to her and whispered it, for she didn't dare to say such a thing aloud. "…are they all of different fathers?"

Maleficent chuckled and her features brightened, "That would make sense, wouldn't it? Obviously people like Mistress Cordelia had many men in their lives, but most wicked fairies can't be bothered. They mate when a male catches their fancy and the male often stays around for a few years. Inevitably, though, he feels the need to move on, and the woman is left to raise however many children they've had in their time together."

"He stays around? I thought you said you never knew your father."

"I was the youngest. My oldest sister remembered him vaguely, but he left before I was born."

"And you never met him? Never wanted to meet him? Surely your mother could have—"

"That was not an option," said Maleficent sharply. Rose flinched and Maleficent's eyes softened. "My apologies—your situation slipped my mind. Family ties in the world of fairies are…not what they are in the human world, to say the least."

"My parents haven't said two words to me," said Rose softly. The reasons for this weren't entirely clear to her. She thought they might have been instructed to leave her to her rest, because of the Sleeping Curse, but another part of her thought they avoided her because they felt uncomfortable talking to her.

Maleficent was silent for some time, and Rose looked down at her hands.

"What would you have me say?"

Rose looked up to see Maleficent gazing at her quizzically, a hint of a challenge in her eyes. Rose swallowed. "The truth," she said, and then as a bitter afterthought, "Unless you think me too weak to handle it."

Maleficent lifted her chin ever so slightly. "The truth is that I'm certain they love you in their way. They are very misguided people."

"The good fairies say that you don't understand love and are incapable of feeling it."

Rose had honestly expected Maleficent to lash out. She was feeling very uncomfortable and upset—it was as though everything she had ever known was suddenly being proven untrue. She wanted a fight. She wanted to yell. She wanted to be angry, or anything except vague and uneasy.

Instead, Maleficent had to bite back a smile. "Charming," she said, and Rose let out a little giggle which surprised her. Maleficent tilted her head, studying Rose. "They think very highly of me, you know."

Rose's smile surprised her, and she found it surprisingly easy to push away her troubling thoughts. When Maleficent returned that smile with a small, subtle smile of her own, a warm feeling flooded through Rose's veins and she shivered. She wanted to embrace Maleficent for how blissfully happy that smile made her, and she barely restrained herself from doing just that.

She decided instead to press her advantage and keep the light-hearted conversation going. "So, has a man ever 'caught your fancy'?"

Maleficent chuckled and looked down, "No."

Rose pouted and pressed on playfully, "Really? Never? Not one?"

Maleficent looked up, still smiling, but there was something very serious shining in her eyes. "Not one."

Rose got the sense that there was something about this conversation she did not understand, and so she considered for a moment how to continue. "Well, men must have fancied you, then."

Maleficent laughed openly and the action seemed to surprise her. "Oh, yes, I have to beat them off with a stick. What is it your prince likes to call me best?  _It_?  _That Thing_?  _Beast_?  _Monster_? I assure you he isn't the only one who refers to me as such."

Rose flinched involuntarily at the mention of Philip. "Please tell me you don't take that nonsense seriously."

Maleficent raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

"Philip refuses to believe a woman could have bested and captured him, so he refuses to refer to you as a woman. At least, that's my theory."

Maleficent nodded, "An interesting theory."

Encouraged by Maleficent's approval, Rose nodded and continued speaking, "He'd have to be mad to actually think you a hideous beast. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." Realizing what she had just said, Rose suddenly found a spot on the floor very interesting as she felt heat rising on her cheeks. Maleficent did not respond, and after some time, Rose dared to peek up at her. Her head was tilted slightly to one side and both eyebrows were raised slightly. This quizzical, studious expression, in Rose's opinion, made her look particularly beautiful. "It's quite…quite overwhelming, actually," Rose murmured as an afterthought.

"Why, thank you, Briar Rose," said Maleficent stoically. "Coming from the Princess Aurora,  _who walks with springtime wherever she goes_ , I take that as quite a compliment."

If it were possible, Rose's blush deepened. "Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not. It was part of Flora's gift incantation. I believe it went 'One gift, beauty rare; gold of sunshine in her hair; lips that shame the red, red rose; she'll walk with springtime wherever she goes.'"

"Gift incantation?"

"When a prince or princess is born, all the fairies in the land may bestow a gift upon the royal child. Flora's was beauty, Fauna's was song, and Merryweather's was a rather clumsy attempt to circumvent a certain curse of which I'm sure you're aware."

Rose's stomach began to twist as she considered this, and she avoided the obvious question. "What if Flora hadn't given me the gift of beauty? What would I look like?"

"Much the same, I'm sure. Queen Leah was very pretty in her youth and you share most of her features. What Flora gave you was a certain magical quality about your beauty which draws people to you. A rather useful quality for a royal. If you were of a mind, you could learn to use that magic to ensnare the heart of anyone you pleased. I daresay Philip has used his handsomeness to that effect."

Rose's eyes widened. "Did he use it on me?"

Maleficent nodded, "Most likely. But after a point it would become useless on you as you share the same magic. It's doubtful you were under the influence for very long."

Rose sat in stunned silence for a moment, but then it occurred to her that it might be more useful for her to speak her mind to Maleficent. Where, in another life, speaking her thoughts would most likely get her in trouble, Maleficent did not seem to care if she said or thought wildly inappropriate things, and, when it struck her fancy, she had very helpful information to offer. "I feel as though my entire existence has been warped by magic. I feel as though without it I would have had a completely different life. I would not have had all of this heartache."

Maleficent nodded, "Perhaps. But you cannot simply wish away the magic in the world."

"I wish I could," Rose replied, frowning. "I wish it all away. I wish away my fake aunts and the house in the cottage and all those sixteen years of lies, lies, lies. I wish away my parents who abandoned me to the care of strangers. I wish away my royalty. I wish away my beauty and my voice and Merryweather's spell and your curse. I wish to lead a normal life as a normal, simple, peasant girl. There is nothing extraordinary about me that was not given to me by magic, and so I wish it all away."

Maleficent was silent for some time, and Rose faintly heard the rustling of her dress. She supposed Maleficent was abandoning her again. She didn't blame her. Maleficent wasn't obligated to deal with Rose's unnecessary outbursts of nonsense.

To her surprise, however, Maleficent sat next to her on the sofa. She put a hand lightly on Rose's shoulder—so lightly that she barely felt it, so lightly that it gave her chills. "You must know that isn't true."

Rose, who had curled herself into a ball, lifted her head and met Maleficent's eyes in a challenge. "Name one thing."

"You are extraordinarily kind. No fairy gifted you with your kind heart."

Rose scoffed and looked away. "What good has that ever done me?"

Maleficent chuckled mirthlessly and withdrew her hand. "Fair point. It did me quite a bit of good, though."

Rose whipped her head back up to look at Maleficent and a wave of intense relief washed over her. She gaped at Maleficent for several seconds and all she could think was  _You could have died_.  _They could have killed you. No magic would mean no you._

What would her life have become if she had not saved Maleficent from her fate? She felt she would have driven herself mad, trying desperately to cling to a life everyone seemed to want to forget. It was not lost on Rose that this other life was caused by Maleficent's curse, and yet it was all Rose had ever known. Maleficent was the reason that Rose was Rose. Twisted though it was, Rose wanted to cling to Maleficent just as desperately as she wanted to cling to the life Maleficent had made for her.

"You're also incredibly brave," Maleficent said quietly, apparently politely ignoring her odd expression. "Personally I would never put my life in the hands of someone like me."

"I'm very glad you're here," Rose said without preamble. It was as close as she could come to making any sense without throwing her arms around Maleficent and most likely getting herself thrown across the room.

Maleficent glanced uncomfortably around at nothing. She did not understand. And Rose could not explain. Finally she said, "It's very late."

Rose reached out impulsively and grasped Maleficent's arm. Maleficent's eyes lit up with panic, but Rose tried to ignore it. "Please promise you'll be here when I awaken."

Maleficent was staring so intently at Rose's hand that she finally had to remove it. Maleficent immediately and visibly relaxed. "As you wish," she said quietly.

Rose nodded and stood, clutching her book to her chest as she quickly made her exit.

"Sweet dreams, Briar Rose," said Maleficent softly, stopping her in her tracks.

Briar Rose dared to look back at Maleficent, who was standing the way she had when she entered, hands folded atop her staff. Her face, though, held the same tiny smile she had revealed earlier. Rose's heart leapt and she smiled back. "Sweet dreams," she replied and then quickly continued her journey up the stairs.

When Rose was safely hidden under the covers in a room that belonged to someone else's ghost, she felt completely overwhelmed with all that she had learned. She wanted to consider each piece of information one by one, make note of questions she still had, things she was not certain she believed, things that made sense and things that did not…but she was far too tired for such a venture and almost immediately succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.


	5. The Journey

The next morning when Briar Rose awoke, she quickly donned a borrowed dress—this, too, was a deep red, but her other options were the far less flattering shades of orange and yellow—and made a sweep of the castle in search of Maleficent, to see if she had made good on her promise. Sure enough, she found Maleficent in her childhood room, sitting at her desk, engaged in one of the scores of books piled there.

"Good morning," said Rose quietly.

Maleficent looked up quickly, but that was the only evidence of her surprise. Her face was cool and collected as usual. "Good morning, Briar Rose. Did you sleep well?"

Rose nodded. "Yes, thank you. What are you reading?"

"Good fairy drivel," Maleficent said, waving her hand dismissively at the offending book.

"What does that mean?"

Maleficent closed the book and showed her the cover. It was called  _The Big Book of Spells, Volume IV_. "The Big Book of Spells—it sounds like a children's book. Utter nonsense."

"Then why are you reading it?" Rose asked, approaching to examine the book further. Maleficent obliged by handing it to her.

"One of your good fairies cast a spell I'd like to undo," Maleficent said.

That made little sense. "What spell?"

Maleficent tilted her head ever so slightly. "I have a raven companion named Diablo. Someone turned him into stone." She paused, as if waiting for Rose to say something in response, but when she said nothing, Maleficent continued. "I suspect Merryweather. Flora's specialties are bubbles and flowers and Fauna wouldn't hurt a fly."

Rose could not quite comprehend this information for a moment. She stared blankly at Maleficent, who, with a small expression of confusion, returned to her reading. Finally Rose managed to voice the indistinguishable words whirling around in her head. "I thought Good Fairies couldn't harm anyone or anything."

"The thing about rules," said Maleficent without turning around, "is that there is always a way around them." She glanced at Rose over her shoulder. "But then, a good, law abiding citizen such as yourself wouldn't know anything about that."

Rose sensed that this was supposed to be a joke, probably at her expense. "What do you mean?"

Maleficent turned to face her fully once more. "The example that comes to mind is that I daresay the good fairies caused you quite a bit of harm without physically hurting you. However, in this case, I believe the exception was that a good fairy ought to do anything in her power to defeat a wicked fairy."

Rose attempted for some time to wrap her mind around this, but she did not come up with anything very insightful to say. "They didn't mean to."

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps not," she said, "but it hurt all the same, did it not?"

Rose averted her gaze. She did not want to think about any of that right now. "Have you figured out which spell it was?"

"If I had," she said with a derisive chuckle, "I would have used all of my newfound knowledge to turn all ten volumes of The Big Book of Spells into so many soap bubbles."

Rose stifled a surprised grin. "Bubbles?"

Maleficent flicked a finger at a book of similar size to the one she was reading, and with a little pop, the book dissolved into what, indeed, appeared to be very colourful soap bubbles, which in turn dissolved into nothingness.

"Well, there goes Volume I," said Maleficent, feigning disappointment and surreptitiously eyeing Rose.

Rose bit her lip. She did not know why she felt so embarrassed every time she smiled. She supposed that something about being amused or in any way happy did not seem to fit her dire circumstances, and yet, had she not brought them upon herself? Why shouldn't she enjoy her strange adventure?

"Would you like to claim the honour of destroying Volume II?" she asked coyly.

Rose blanched, "What?"

Maleficent handed her the book, pretending not to notice the pallor of her face. "Rip it up. Bury it. You can burn it for all I care. Perhaps it would be cathartic."

Rose took the book into her hands gingerly, as though it might be the one to burn her. She stammered something unintelligible which contained words such as "I...I don't...I can't..."

Maleficent finally met her eyes. Her expression was stoic, but the sparkle in her eyes suggested amusement. "Or just leave it awhile. Perhaps you'll change your mind."

Rose took this as an invitation to drop the book onto Maleficent's bed as though it had indeed harmed her in some unforgivable way.

* * *

"Mistress Flora," said King Stefan. "I do not doubt your judgement where Maleficent is concerned, but it has been days since your last search attempt. What is your plan for finding her and saving my daughter?"

"King Stefan, I think it is time we accept that Maleficent has left the Land of the Three Kingdoms."

"Very well, I accept it," Stefan said, barely containing an outburst of frustration. "So what do we do?"

"She could be anywhere, Your Majesty," said Flora by way of explanation, wringing her hands unhappily.

Stefan threw up his hands, "Then start looking! Are you not magical? It would take my men weeks to reach the nearest kingdom outside of this land. You can get there in a matter of minutes.  _Anywhere_  should not be impossible to you!"

King Stefan had been the younger brother of Prince Henry III, who had died very young in a foolhardy war with what was once the Kingdom of the South. Shortly after the Southerin Kingdom had, quite literally, gone up in flames, the evil fairy Maleficent had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and taken up residence there. She had quickly rendered it into a foreboding location befitting of her reputation—a reputation which, it was worth noting, she had also established with little effort.

As Stefan had not been the crown prince, he had not received the usual gifts that Good Fairies bestowed upon royal children. Stefan had been gifted with honour from Flora, kindness from Fauna, and patience from Merryweather. He'd always found this baffling, however, for Mistress Merryweather was not particularly patient, herself, and it was in times like these that Stefan could have used superhuman patience.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," said Fauna when Flora did not respond, " _Maleficent_  can be anywhere in a matter of minutes. We need a bit more time than that."

Stefan sighed. He did not need to be reminded of Maleficent's power, which he had so stubbornly underestimated years ago. She had proven what she could do quite keenly.

"As such," Flora picked up again, "we wish to search judiciously. We've been making a list of places Maleficent would most likely be before we go chasing after her."

Stefan nodded. At least that was a plan. "Good. And what might those be?"

"I've read that Maleficent spent some time in the Land of Hill and Valley—that would be the first stop, since it's fairly close. She has acquaintances in the Kingdom by the Sea, the Desert Lands, the Land of the Black Forest, and the Mountainlands. She also seems to have some connection to the Kingdom Between Two Rivers—none of the books I've found have much to offer, but apparently there is a land nearby known as the Dragon Country. Given what we have recently learned about Maleficent's shapeshifting abilities, that seems like a worthy place to look."

Stefan knew a bit about the Land of Hill and Valley—according to the King of the Valley Frederic VIII, the land was always rife with wicked fairies, which was possibly related to the fact that the land was also rife with discord. He knew next to nothing about the other places Flora had listed. If pressed, he could probably point them out on a map, but all he really knew was that they were very far away. He held a hand against his forehead in an attempt to assuage a sixteen-year-long headache and then stood from the table. "Very well," he said. "Do as you see fit, Mistress Flora." And then he slowly and quietly walked out of the room.

What kind of life had his only child been fated to? Where was she now? Was she hurt? Frightened? Stefan swallowed the lump in his throat as he shut the door to his study, leaning his head against the door in despair. Was she even still alive?

Mortals were no match for wicked fairies—this had been made quite clear to Stefan. His only resources—his only chance of catching the wicked fairy who had wrought such despair upon his small family—were the three good fairies who were his Counselors, and frankly, they seemed just as lost as he did. That he must once again put his daughter's life in their hands no longer felt particularly safe to him, but what other choice did he have? Were there other fairies somewhere who might be able to help him? Why didn't his Counselors seek their help, if such creatures existed?

Stefan sat at his desk, took up a book, restlessly flipped a few pages, and then set it aside and buried his face in his hands. As usual, there was nothing he could do, and he began to succumb to the growing feeling of helplessness gripping his heart.

After a few minutes of silence, there was a soft knock at his study door. "Come in," he said.

"What did the good fairies say?" asked Leah quietly as she pushed open the door.

Stefan looked up at her. "Nothing of any use, as far as I can tell." He hated to see her looking so worried, and yet a part of him felt that she'd looked that way for as long as he'd known her.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" asked Leah, her voice tremulous with unshed tears.

Stefan stood and took her hands. "If you can think of anything, I'd be glad to hear it," he replied dejectedly. "Are there any fairies in Gavin's kingdom that I don't know about?"

Though the three good fairies technically presided over all three kingdoms in this land, they mostly kept to the North and the East, as Gavin's kingdom, the Kingdom of the West, made it quite clear since its enormous witch burning a few decades ago that its citizens would prefer minimal contact with magical creatures when possible.

Leah shook her head. "But do you really think bringing more fairies into this would be wise?"

"I don't," Stefan sighed. "But..." he regarded Leah sadly for a moment, remembering something she had said almost two decades ago. "We cannot deny Maleficent's power," he said. "And perhaps if I had listened to you years ago, our child would have been spared all of this. Without magic, we don't stand a chance against her."

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Leah's lips, and she held Stefan's hand against her face. "Try telling that to Philip," she said, almost lightly but for the tremor in her voice.

"Philip is a boy," Stefan said, shaking his head.

"Philip is like his father," replied Leah unhappily, averting her eyes. She had never been fond of Hubert, something which had begun to trouble Stefan as the years went by, but he had never asked her about it.

"We were all young and foolish once," he said. "He'll learn."

Leah squeezed his hand and then let go of it, turning to leave. "I hope you're right."

* * *

"This is dreadful," said Fauna, covering her face with her hands.

"Those chains should have completely sapped her magic. They should have worked. Felicity said they always worked before."

Fauna and Merryweather had silently reached a consensus not to point out to Flora that the enchanted chains which had bound Maleficent had probably worked just fine. Just because Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had been next to useless during their sixteen years without magic did not mean that Maleficent was. All the enchanted Chains in the world could not strip Maleficent of her superior intellect and knack for manipulation.

But Flora was under a great deal of stress—she did not need to be reminded of Maleficent's many non-magical talents.

"We'll just have to start looking, Flora," said Merryweather instead.

"That's right," Fauna agreed. "Perhaps we ought to try gathering allies. I'll bet Mistress Felicity and her sisters would help us," she offered.

"Suppose it's all for nothing," Flora snapped.

"Flora!" Fauna and Merryweather cried. Fauna continued, "There's a very good chance that Rose is just fine. You know Maleficent wouldn't just be done with the whole thing like that. It's not the way she works."

"Oh, yes," spat Merryweather. "I'm sure Rose is just  _fine_  with Maleficent. Why didn't we think of her as a babysitter?"

Fauna turned to face her, surprised. "Merryweather! That isn't very helpful thinking."

"That's realistic thinking, Fauna," Merryweather replied. "Rose probably isn't dead, but I don't think she's having a picnic in the park, either."

"That's not what I meant! I only meant—"

"Girls, girls," Flora said with a half-hearted wave of her hands. "Pack your things. We leave for the Land of Hill and Valley tonight."

Fauna and Merryweather exchanged a glance and nodded silently to Flora.

The whole affair had been quite dreadful, indeed. The good fairies had believed that Maleficent might have been defeated for good. The Land of the Three Kingdoms could declare a Golden Age of Prosperity. It would become the Land of the Two Kingdoms as Stefan and Hubert's lands began construction to merge into one and Philip and Aurora grew into the King and Queen of the United Kingdoms of North and East.

Though Fauna personally did not believe it was necessary to execute Maleficent, Flora and Merryweather were very set on the matter. She'd found it extremely troubling a few days ago, but now she wondered if they might have been correct. What had happened when Maleficent had been left in chains? She had somehow charmed or cajoled or manipulated little Rose into freeing her.

Rose had not been adjusting very well to her new life. Flora and Merryweather chalked it up to side effects from the Curse. Flora instructed everyone in the castle—including her younger sisters—to leave Rose alone as much as possible, that she might get the extra rest she needed.

Fauna feared that there was more to it than that. Rose had always been spirited. She had never wanted to behave, to stay inside and do her lessons, or to follow orders. She was not a bad child—not at all—but she was clever, sometimes mischievous, and most of all, very curious.

Here, though, Rose never asked questions. She rarely conversed longer than she needed to, and she seemed to find it difficult. Sometimes, when she seemed to be paying attention, she was awkward, as though she did not know what to say. Most times, though, she was distant and lost track of what little conversation there was to be had.

Honestly, when Fauna learned that Rose had left the confines of her room to explore the castle, she had been relieved. This was the Rose she knew—and what harm could come of her taking a little walk around?

What harm, indeed.

It had been Fauna's suggestion that Rose ought to speak with Maleficent before she was put on trial. Rose's curiosity almost invariably got the better of her, and Fauna knew that far more harm than good could come from Rose not getting all of the answers she wanted. She feared that the vague idea of Maleficent, some looming, faceless creature who had hunted her throughout her youth, would haunt Rose for the rest of her life. Fauna thought that perhaps it would be better for Rose to see that Maleficent was not some impossibly fearsome beast, some immortal force of evil who would live on even after her death, the way Prince Philip made her out to be in his gallant tale, and the way Flora and Merryweather sometimes did in their minds. Maleficent was a wicked fairy like any other. She was cruel and ruthless and far cleverer than any other wicked fairy Fauna had ever encountered, but she was a wicked fairy nonetheless, and all wicked fairies could be defeated.

Though she didn't dare say anything for fear of incurring the longest lecture of her life, Fauna didn't understand her sisters' surprise at what had transpired a few nights ago. Rose had led a very sheltered life, and she had always been an uncommonly kind-hearted child. She knew nothing of wicked people like Maleficent, who would tell lies upon lies if it got them what they wanted. Of course she would not understand why Maleficent must be put to death.

And really, Fauna rather hoped Rose still didn't understand. She hoped that Rose  _was_  just fine, wherever she was. It wasn't impossible. Maleficent wouldn't harm Rose if she still wanted something.

Then again, she had never seemed to want anything before, and Fauna couldn't imagine what she wanted now. Flora and Merryweather and the King seemed to think Maleficent was holding Rose captive for no other reason than because she was Evil and that was the sort of thing Evil Creatures did, and perhaps they were right. Perhaps Fauna was only holding out hope for some higher purpose because that would mean that Rose stood a chance.

Fauna packed a small satchel of things she would need for the journey and then enchanted the bag so that it would fit in her pocket. Felicity of the Land of Hill and Valley was mostly Flora's friend and she had always made Fauna rather uncomfortable. She supposed that the Land of Hill and Valley was a very different place to live, as it was invariably overrun with wicked fairies. The good fairies there were aggressive and warlike out of necessity. Still, Fauna had a hard time being around them.

Fauna was most looking forward to their impending visit to the Kingdom by the Sea. Fauna and her sisters had only been to the Kingdom by the Sea once, a very long time ago, but it had been breathtakingly beautiful, and they had met the legendary Mistress Sara. Fauna had many fond memories of the Kingdom by the Sea, though perhaps just as many bittersweet ones.

Perhaps looking forward to visiting such a faraway land might have been premature, but Fauna privately doubted that Maleficent was actually anywhere on their list. They would not find her until she wanted to be found, and so Fauna decided to be excited for the journey.

* * *

"So, Briar Rose," said Maleficent after a few moments of silence, "since you evidently did not take to spending your days alone, would you care to accompany me on my journey today?"

Rose knew she ought to have mistrusted such an offhand suggestion from Maleficent, but she had become so desperate for company that she couldn't bring herself to care. Rose leaned forward on her toes and clasped her hands together, to contain her excitement at Maleficent's suggestion. "Oh, yes! Where are you going?"

The corners of Maleficent's ruby red lips curled up in the faintest hint of a smile. "The Land of Hill and Valley."

Rose recognized the name for two reasons. First, she vaguely recalled from one of her aunts' many attempts at tutelage that the Land of Hill and Valley was the closest realm to the Land of Three Kingdoms. It was still quite a journey on horseback, but she had been told that the Royal Family of the East had some contact with the Royal Families of Hill and Valley. This was sufficient in quelling her excitement, and that now familiar mixture of dread and guilt began churning in her stomach once again. "That's rather close to...to our land, isn't it?"

Maleficent nodded, "Relatively speaking, I suppose, but the chances of King Stefan corresponding with either Hill or Valley King are slim. Even if anyone should recognize either of us, by the time word reached the Kingdom of the East, we would already be long gone."

Rose accepted this without further question. She wanted company, she wanted adventure, and the very much wanted to visit the Kingdoms of Hill and Valley. If she was indeed still in danger where Maleficent was concerned, that wouldn't change by staying here or by returning home.

"I suspect you will find it a fascinating place to visit," said Maleficent conversationally. "Under different circumstances, I would have sent word to Mistress Kinsale to expect us, but I doubt she will be terribly put out by a surprise visit."

"Mistress Kinsale? I...oh!...I may meet her?" Mistress Kinsale was the author of the  _Biography of Mistress Acacia_ , and the second reason for which Rose recognized the name of a land she had never visited. Though Rose wasn't very far along in the book, it was the first story she had ever read which had really grabbed her attention, and she was nearly overcome with excitement at the notion of meeting her new favourite author. "Oh, but I haven't finished reading the story of Mistress Acacia yet...I'm not even halfway through. Every sentence has a word I don't understand. Has she written other things? Won't I seem terribly stupid?"

Rose had begun to pace frantically, but she stopped quite suddenly when Maleficent stood. Once again, distracted by a swirling mess of new ideas, she had nearly forgotten Maleficent's commanding presence. Maleficent was quite a bit taller than Rose, a detail which Rose could overlook when Maleficent was seated, and she exuded a royal quality which Rose could never imagine herself possessing. Rose bizarrely felt the urge to curtsey or show some sign of deference to Maleficent's obvious power—the same urge, incidentally, which she felt in the presence of her parents and Philip's father. She settled upon clasping her hands and bowing her head slightly.

"As I may have mentioned to you, Mistress Kinsale is a very interesting woman. She enjoys the company of humans. She has an excellent understanding of human culture. I doubt she would find you dull even if you could not read a single word."

Rose allowed herself to feel slightly calmed by this information. "Really?" she asked softly.

Maleficent nodded briskly, "Of course really. Now, shall we be on our way?"

Rose nodded quickly in reply and followed Maleficent out of the castle. She wished she could have looked at herself in a mirror or combed her hair, but there did not seem to be any combs or mirrors in the entirety of the castle. This was curious considering that Rose had never seen Maleficent looking anything less than immaculately put together following the night of her escape from King Stefan's dungeon. Rose imagined that magic must be the culprit, for she never noticed Maleficent preening in any way, and she had the feeling that Maleficent would think her very silly indeed for being so concerned about how she looked. She hoped that if Mistress Kinsale were the type to care about such things, Maleficent would have mentioned it to her.

Maleficent led her first up the winding path to the cave where the baby dragon lived. When they saw to it that he was sleeping soundly, she waved her staff in several intricate patterns and he disappeared into thin air. Rose gazed at Maleficent in wonder.

"A protective spell of mine," Maleficent explained when faced with Rose's expression. "I would surround the cave with a thicket of thorns, but..." she nodded her head toward Rose, her eyes twinkling, "we both know how well that worked."

Rose's brow furrowed as a wave of unpleasant emotions overtook her once more. She thought of the life and the people she was avoiding who must be worried about her...and she also thought of Maleficent, broken and powerless in chains, sentenced to death. She averted her eyes and clasped her hands together uncomfortably.

"Well," Maleficent recovered without missing a beat, "on we go," she said. Rose was very glad that Maleficent offered her arm, for it gave her something to focus on other than the mess that was her current emotional state. Rose clutched Maleficent's arm with both hands and much too tightly, which earned her a very odd look from Maleficent.

"Oh," she said, "I had already forgotten: you don't like to travel." In the most polite way possible, Maleficent gently shook Rose's clinging hands off of her arm, which was no small task. Rose did not know how she had done it at all until she realized that her hands were tingling.

Caught up in examining the unknown force working upon her hands, Rose at first did not notice Maleficent. Maleficent gently cleared her throat and Rose looked up to find Maleficent's face stoic, her elbows at her waist with staff tucked under the left arm, and her forearms extended toward Rose.

Rose stared openly at Maleficent's arms, considering the (admittedly many) times she had touched Maleficent during their brief acquaintance, most of which had had stony reception at best. She thought of the other time Maleficent had extended her arms to Rose, chained wrists exposed, awaiting Rose's decision to free her or condemn her.

Rose averted her eyes and hesitantly walked into Maleficent's waiting arms. Maleficent wrapped one arm protectively around Rose's head and the other around her waist, and Rose felt her entire body flushing hot and her heart beginning to pound. Now it was her turn to stand stiffly in Maleficent's embrace, and it was not until she felt that awful sensation of being nowhere that Rose wrapped her arms tightly around Maleficent's waist and pressed her cheek against Maleficent's breast. Maleficent would keep her safe. Maleficent would not let her fade into nothingness.

The whole trip could not have taken more than a few minutes, but when Rose's feet touched solid ground, she fell to her knees in relief.

Maleficent stood, hands folded atop her staff, waiting patiently for Rose to gather herself and stand. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way," said Maleficent as Rose pressed her hands against the grass upon which she knelt, "but did you really think you wouldn't make it in one piece?"

Rose, who was preoccupied with trying unceremoniously to stand on shaky legs which would not hold her, did not deign to respond.

"You know, I think I ought to be offended," Maleficent continued, and now Rose was certain she was enjoying Rose's embarrassment. "Do you think me a substandard sorceress? I can't even magic a slip of a maiden to her intended destination in one piece?"

Rose blew a piece of her hair out of her face—which, as she had suspected, was tangled beyond repair—to shoot Maleficent a glare. Her irritation at being made fun of distracted her from the constant feeling that her life was a giant swirling mass of nothing and she managed to right herself.

"All right, you've had your fun," Rose spat. "Enough."

"Oh, do forgive me," Maleficent said with a small bow of her head, "you are a maiden no longer."

This comment stung for reasons Rose could not entirely explain, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach, where it began pounding and churning up the most awful feeling Rose had ever experienced. If she'd had her way, she wouldn't be a married woman, bound forever to someone she barely knew, someone she might perhaps not adore quite as much as she'd thought she did at first, but that was hardly her fault, was it?

Unfortunately, the churning, boiling feeling coarsing through her blood was not conducive to cogent arguments. "And you are a maiden still," Rose replied icily, and even as she spoke she wished she could take the words back. "So perhaps I am not so inferior to you as you imagine."

Maleficent's smile was cold and mirthless. It mocked the genuine, warm smile Rose had seen the previous evening. "If you were anything but a human girl, I would be appalled that you should define your worth by whether a man had lain claim to the flesh between your legs. However, I did not mean the comment as an insult, and I am surprised that you took it as such."

Rose could not define the awful demon churning in her heart and her stomach, but she also could not contain it. "Oh, do tell me!" she cried, approaching Maleficent. "How should I define my worth? By whether my parents want me? By whether my...my...non-aunt fairies want me, even if only to keep me locked away from the world? By whether you will see fit to spend an afternoon talking to me instead of leaving me alone for who knows how long in a strange place and 'politely suggesting' that I not leave 'for my own safety'?"

Maleficent remained cold and impassive. "Forgive me for showing concern," she said crisply.

"Concern!" Rose echoed, shaking her head furiously. "Why? Why in the world would you care if something happened to me, when that was exactly what you wanted? Is it because I saved your life? Would you lose sleep over it, perhaps? For how long? A year? A decade? In the end I would be...I would be a teardrop in the great ocean that is the life of a wicked fairy, so in the end, what would it really matter to you if something should happen to me?"

"Do you not care if something happens to you?" Maleficent asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Obviously not," Rose retorted with a sweeping gesture aimed at Maleficent, that great catalyst for all of her misfortunes.

Maleficent nodded, "Really? Really, you only set me free because you didn't care what became of you?"

Rose lifted her chin defiantly.

"Since you seem to want my opinion on so many subjects at the moment, I shall offer you this one: if you truly did not care what became of you, you would have let me die. You would have been a good and faithful slave to Philip and the Royal Families of North and East. You would have borne him children even if it tore you apart. You would have been contented to fade into relative obscurity, your only legend that you once famously  _fell asleep_."

Maleficent moved so quickly that Rose barely even noticed until she was looming over her, not even a breath away. Rose swallowed, but her throat was dry.

Maleficent's black eyes were afire, and a small smirk crossed her face before she spoke once more. "If you had told me the night we met that you did not care what became of you, I might have believed you. I might have believed that you were contented to live in the delusion of happiness that others had fashioned for you.

"But here is my opinion,  _Princess_ : you want to live. Not to survive, but to _live_. You want to make a life for yourself, rather than to simply accept a life that's been fashioned for you. You knew you weren't throwing your life away when you set me free. You did not take off those chains to get yourself killed. You did it because you believed in my promise to free you from your own prison. Tell me," she almost sneered, "have you since changed your mind on the matter of living?"

Rose's lower lip quivered. She shook her head and blinked back frightened tears. But Maleficent's fury was gone as soon as it had come. She straightened her posture and offered Rose her arm. "Good," she said quietly. "Shall we?"

Rose took Maleficent's arm, for she was too frightened to refuse it, but her entire body was quivering.

"To answer your previous questions, I believe that one, and you especially, should define her worth independent of other people. People may come and go, but you will always be yourself. You will find no peace unless you are contented to be who you are."

Rose was finding it quite difficult to think clearly, but she tried to consider this information.

At the moment, she was not very happy with who she was. She felt stupid. Stupid and reckless. What sort of foolhardy person ran away from her life as a married princess to live on the run with a magical being who had attempted to kill her? Setting that aside, what sort of person then continued to push said magical being for little other reason than that she was feeling uncomfortable and wanted to yell about something? Maleficent demonstrated time and again how terrifying she could be without even trying, and yet Rose so easily forgot her circumstances.

"Additionally, I would like to apologize for the implications of the statement 'if you were anything but a human girl.' I am not merely offering you protection on the basis of honour and I do not think of you as a transient human whose only purpose in my life is that you once spared it."

This took some time for Rose to piece together. Rose found herself hoping she could understand a word that Mistress Kinsale said. She found Maleficent's way of speaking almost too formal and flowery to decipher, and if Mistress Kinsale spoke as she wrote, Rose would have a hard time of it, indeed. And she had already had enough of feeling like an imbecile today.

Maleficent was apologizing. That in itself was rather startling. She was apologizing for snapping at Rose, which was also rather odd, because Rose had done most of the snapping. And the rest...she was saying that she wasn't just concerned about Rose's safety because Rose saved her life. And that she didn't think that Rose was forgetful in her transience?

"You...you don't?" Rose swallowed. "I mean...you aren't?"

Maleficent's focus was upon the beautiful landscape before them. This valley was perhaps not as breathtaking as the Dragon Country, but nor was it as unsettling. The grass was a lovely shade of deep green, the late morning sky was full of puffy white clouds, and everything, from the grass to the trees to the sparse arrangements of flowers, somehow gave off the impression of being neat and orderly.

"One of the few joys of being me," said Maleficent quietly, "is that I do not have to do anything I don't want to do."

This concept was not difficult to grasp by itself, but in the context of the conversation, it made Rose's head spin with questions she couldn't form into coherent thoughts. The thought which made it to her lips was perhaps not the most polished, but it was certainly foremost in her mind. "You don't want to kill me?"

Maleficent glanced down at her, "Haven't I said that already?"

Rose frowned dubiously. "Not in so many words."

"I don't know what it is you're hoping to uncover," said Maleficent, returning her gaze to the path they walked. "I could tell you there's no need to fear for your safety in my company, but that wouldn't make much difference if you don't believe me."

Rose stopped walking and let go of Maleficent's arm, summoning what little courage she possessed. "I want to know why," she said as firmly as she could manage, trying to ignore her heart pounding in her ears. "That's all. Just why."

Maleficent turned to face her, expression impassive. "It seems to me there's more to it than that," she said coldly. "I think you're trying to find a reason to forgive me. You want your good fairy aunts to be wrong about me."

Rose averted her eyes. "You're avoiding my question."

"There isn't some grand, tragic, misunderstood reason."

"Is there any reason at all, or is that just what you felt like doing one day?" asked Rose almost sharply, growing increasingly frustrated with Maleficent's evasion.

Maleficent tilted her head and quirked one eyebrow, considering Rose for a moment before she responded. "Queen Leah made a deal with me. She didn't hold up her end of the bargain."

Rose felt suddenly like crying again, and she clasped her hands together tightly. "What sort of deal was so important to you?"

"It wasn't of any importance to me at all," said Maleficent haughtily, lifting her chin in a show of defiance. Rose was so stunned by a sudden thought that occurred to her that she no longer felt like crying. She gazed wide-eyed at Maleficent and said nothing, trying to make sense of it.

Maleficent was lying.

Rose was certain of it, and yet she couldn't imagine how she'd be certain of such a thing. Maleficent could control a conversation without missing a beat. Rose had previously imagined that most of what Maleficent said to her was probably at least slightly untrue, but if indeed Maleficent had lied to her before, she hadn't exhibited any telling mannerisms whatsoever. And yet, at this very moment, Maleficent had just lied to her, and Rose did not know what to make of that.

She decided not to press the issue any further for today. She'd gotten a partial answer, which was honestly more than she'd hoped for, and there was little she could do but take Maleficent at her word that Rose was not in danger from her.

Rose looked away, for she realized she'd been staring. "I would like to apologize...for...most of what I said earlier. It was rather childish of me."

Maleficent approached her and offered her arm once more. "Thank you," she said in her usual clipped tone. "But there's no need. In case it's escaped your notice, I'm not particularly accustomed to dealing with people. I'd much prefer if you made it clear what you're thinking and feeling."

Something about this comment, which was delivered in the same neutral, slightly harsh tone as most of what Maleficent said, filled Rose with a kind of gushing happiness she'd only felt once before. She was consumed by the urge to throw her arms around Maleficent, but that seemed like a very stupid idea indeed, and so she settled upon smiling to herself as they continued to walk.

There was something positively delightful about someone who didn't care what she thought or felt, in the sense that Maleficent didn't expect Rose to think or feel a certain way. For the first time since her decision to run away, Rose truly felt as though she had gained some freedom in this mad venture.

"Here we are," said Maleficent, gesturing with her staff to a rather large manor not far ahead.

The house appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. The landscape dipped slightly and in the centre of the valley stood a mansion big enough to be a castle, surrounded by high stone walls with no sign of a gate. They drew closer by the minute to these walls and Rose grew confused—was Maleficent planning to magic them through, or...?

"WHO GOES THERE?" bellowed a voice from nowhere...or from everywhere, Rose could not decide. She clutched Maleficent's arm, desperately trying to suppress the urge to run away or faint.

"Kinsale, it's Maleficent. And I've brought a guest. Is this a bad time?"

The tone immediately changed from terrifying to warm and welcoming. "Maleficent? Truly? It's been so long! One moment..."

At first, there was a faint rumbling, as though of distant thunder. Then the earth beneath their feet began to shake. And then, to Rose's immense surprise, the stone wall began to ripple...to  _move_...to shift so that it formed an archway which offered passage to the massive front doors of Mistress Kinsale's home.

Maleficent gestured toward the doors. "After you."

Rose smoothed her hair and began to fidget with her dress, "Are you certain I won't embarrass myself?"

Maleficent shook her head in mild exasperation and placed a hand lightly on Rose's back, nudging her forward. "Do you think I would deliberately embarrass you for my own enjoyment?"

Rose responded with a half-hearted glare. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Maleficent smirked, which surprised Rose into forgetting what had made her so irritable in the first place. "Come now," she said, and Rose could have sworn that there was less derision in her tone than usual.

The house seemed even larger and more imposing as they drew closer. The doors were twice as tall as Maleficent's own front doors, and Rose could not even imagine what to expect when they began to open, as if by magic. Rose shook her head as this thought came to her mind. Of course they were opening by magic.

The doors opened to reveal a grand ballroom like nothing Rose had ever sen. The walls and floors gleamed in gold and silver splendour. Every inch of the room was flooded with warm, brilliant light which did not seem to be coming from anywhere. Along the walls were rows of banquet tables covered in shimmering silver tablecloths. Adjacent were scores of various seating arrangements, from elegant dining tables to cosy sofas and armchairs. On either side of the room was an enormous fireplace surrounded by big, puffy chairs, and still in the center of the room was more space than could ever be used for dancing.

Rose's eyes traced the length of the deep red carpet which split the magnificent room down the center. It led to an equally magnificent golden throne. Rose could tell from across the room that the throne must have been intricately crafted—for atop it she could see the head of a roaring lion, golden mane seeming to fly in an imaginary breeze—and she longed to inspect it more closely.

The dark figure sitting in the throne stood. The movement caught Rose's eye and she caught her first glimpse of Mistress Kinsale. She felt Maleficent urging her to walk forward, and together, they walked the length of that red carpet to greet the ruler of this glorious house.

"I can scarcely believe my eyes," said Mistress Kinsale in a voice which was rich and musical. "Mistress Maleficent of the Three Kingdoms, here in my very own humble abode once more."

Mistress Kinsale was tall for a woman, but not nearly as tall as Maleficent, and her body seemed altogether a bit sturdier. She wore a breathtakingly beautiful dress of silver with little gold accents, fitted so that it emphasized her shapely figure. Where Maleficent's skin was a pale, pine sort of green, Mistress Kinsale's was a deep, rich green accented by rosy red cheeks and a general healthy glow. Rose glanced up at Maleficent and then back to Mistress Kinsale, and it occurred to her that perhaps Maleficent's skin ought to look that way and didn't.

Mistress Kinsale descended the few steps from her throne and embraced Maleficent, kissing her lightly on both cheeks, and Rose's hand flew to her mouth as she prepared to see the woman thrown across the room. To Rose's immense surprise, however, Maleficent did not resist the gesture, though she did not return it. She smiled thinly and said, "It is good to see you, Kinsale. I hope I have not put you out by dropping in unexpectedly."

Kinsale waved her hand dismissively, "Not at all. Now, are you going to introduce me to your charming guest?"

Mistress Kinsale turned to face Rose, who smiled uneasily and curtseyed, for lack of anything better to do. Kinsale's eyes were not coal black like Maleficent's, but very dark brown, shining not with cunning, but with something akin to warmth. Kinsale's features were sharp like Maleficent's and perhaps even more elfin. Her hair, which had at first glance appeared black, but was a rich dark brown almost like her eyes, was pulled back into a very intricate, braided hairstyle, revealing pointed ears. (Rose wondered whether Maleficent had pointed ears as well—was it rude to ask?)

Kinsale smiled, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth, and the overall effect was somewhat unnerving. Rose felt a chill run down her spine and she tried to avoid visibly wincing.

"Mistress Kinsale, may I introduce you to Her Royal Highness, the Princess Aurora of the Kingdom of the East."

Mistress Kinsale raised her eyebrows and gave Maleficent a look of delighted surprise before turning back to Rose and offering a deep, sweeping curtsey which put Rose's to shame. Rose began wringing her hands uncomfortably.

"The famous Princess Aurora? Maleficent, you are unbelievable! Your Royal Highness, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance. Now," she waved her hands and Rose and Maleficent parted to let her pass, "you must come and sit down, for I sincerely hope that this is as good of a story as I think it shall be." She ushered them over to one of the many lush seating arrangements in the room, this one comprised of three large red armchairs and a tea table.

"Sit!" she exclaimed. They sat. "Tea?" she asked, and before they could answer, she waved her hand absently at the table and conjured an entire tea set, complete with steaming tea that smelled of raspberries.

"Maleficent, let's begin with you. Last I heard, you found Aurora and enacted your intended curse, captured Prince Philip of the North and were planning to keep him in your dungeon until he ceased to amuse you. Did something go wrong?" she looked at Rose and her deep brown eyes quickly took in Rose's entire body, down and back up. Rose shivered. "Or perhaps right?"

Rose looked to Maleficent, hoping she might share more information with her friend. Maleficent rolled her eyes. "I suppose you wouldn't know this, but my minions had become rather pitiful—rampant inbreeding. I shouldn't have entrusted anything to them. In any event, the three good fairies managed to outrun them, turned Diablo to stone, and made off with Philip, apparently equipping him with a Sword of Truth and a Shield of Virtue."

"A what?" Kinsale interrupted her. Rose realized that Kinsale was on the edge of her seat. "Where did Flora get those? I've never met even one of those sisters—I wasn't aware they had any kind of network. Or have they become significantly more powerful since last we spoke?"

Maleficent shrugged, "They must have acquired them somewhere—Flora had to steal magic from her sisters to enact the Sword Incantation."

"No!" Kinsale's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Maleficent, were you badly hurt?"

Maleficent waved a hand dismissively, "I am obviously quite all right. My point was that Flora not only acquired a Sword of Truth and a Shield of Virtue, but the Chains of Avasina."

Kinsale tapped her chin with her fingers. "I wonder how she managed that. Do you have powerful enemies of whom I'm not aware?"

Maleficent averted her gaze for an instant. "It's not impossible, but it's more likely that Flora appealed to someone with a general hatred of wicked fairies."

"You don't mean Mistress Sara?"

"Hmm," Maleficent considered this. "Perhaps, but more likely someone from your kingdom. I don't believe the Righteous Three travel very much."

Kinsale shrugged. "Felicity? I never thought her the type to carry such artefacts, but there have been so many drifters here over the past few years, perhaps she has taken to drastic measures. She's quite good at enchanting objects to do her bidding. Sometimes I worry about inviting her to my soirees. I fear my dinnerware might come after me."

Maleficent chuckled. Rose's head was spinning, and she couldn't even begin to make sense of half of the information she'd just heard. She had a strange and contradictory impression of Kinsale. On the one hand, she exuded warmth and enthusiasm, something Rose had been sorely missing with no one but Maleficent or herself for company. On the other hand, Rose realized that, just as readily as Kinsale had accepted Rose's presence, she would have accepted her absence and rejoiced in Maleficent's victory.

It occurred to Rose, in the form of a jolt of fear, that Maleficent might have brought Rose to Kinsale to get rid of her, since Maleficent did not want to kill the person who had spared her life.

"Anyway, what was it like?" Kinsale asked, and Rose tried to imagine her a cold-blooded murderer. It wasn't a difficult thing to see in Maleficent. Though Kinsale was similarly intimidating, Rose found it somewhat difficult to reconcile her evident pleasantness with the possibility of cruelty. "I've never met anyone else who's been put in those chains and lived to tell the tale."

Rose could certainly see how this woman had written a biography so interesting that even someone as illiterate as Rose wanted to read it. The world was a story to her, and she had a rather magnetic quality about her. It must be easy for her to draw the stories she wrote out of their keepers.

Or perhaps Rose was simply in dire need of company. Maleficent, for her part, seemed quite uncomfortable. She averted her eyes, pretending to examine various trinkets around the room as she spoke. "It is...difficult to explain. It's the feeling when you have completely sapped your magic, but your magic doesn't return. You almost...forget what it felt like to have magic."

"That's horrible," murmured Kinsale. "What of your sword wound?"

Maleficent shook her head. "Apparently I was unconscious for many days. When I came around, I was in a great deal of pain that occasionally overwhelmed me into unconsciousness once more. The wound began to heal when my magic was returned to me, of course, but very slowly. It no longer pains me very much."

Rose's brow furrowed in concern. Maleficent had seemed so untouchable to her even that first night—it hadn't once occurred to Rose that she might be in pain from her near-fatal injury, and she felt rather stupid for forgetting about it.

"I am sorry for excluding you, Princess Aurora," said Kinsale and Rose jumped to attention. "How do you like your tea?"

Rose had not taken a drink of the tea. Though it smelled delicious, Rose had idly wondered whether it might be poisoned and had been eyeing it suspiciously ever since the idea had occurred to her. Faced with Kinsale's frightening smile, however, Rose quickly took a sip. "It's delicious," she murmured with a nervous smile. "Thank you."

"I'm glad. Are we being dull? It isn't often I entertain royalty, and I shouldn't like to give you a bad impression."

"No, no," Rose shook her head, concentrating on her tea. "Of course not."

"Are you getting new information? I could interrogate her a bit more if you'd like," said Kinsale with a wink. Rose was so taken aback that a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips.

"So!" Kinsale cried, mercifully returning her attention to Maleficent. "When we left off, you were in—Stefan's dungeon, I presume?—bound by the magical Chains of Avasina. Your magic was slowly draining out of you, to be lost forever, and you were surely to be condemned to death—what happened next?"

Against Rose's better judgement, she found herself drawn into Kinsale's story—or perhaps the captivating way in which she spoke the words—and she almost forgot how directly the story involved her.

"My," said Maleficent, her expression more pleasant than Rose had ever seen it, "you can spin a story into something far more gripping than it really was." Kinsale bowed her head in thanks. "Prince Philip, King Stefan, and a council of nobles I had never seen before came shortly after I awoke and informed me that since I was alive, I would be tried for my crimes. Later, Stefan came alone to inform me that he would see me dead no matter the cost."

Though Rose had barely spoken with King Stefan—her father, she had to remind herself—she found this information somewhat upsetting. She tried to understand it, to think,  _if I were my daughter...and Maleficent had cursed my daughter to die_...but this made her head begin to ache, and she had to set down her tea to reach up and rub her temples until she could push away this troubling thought. King Stefan did not feel like her father, and she could not imagine how he could think of her as his daughter when he knew nothing about her. That was a thought for another time, preferably when Rose didn't have so much other troubling information to contend with. She tried to refocus her attention on Maleficent and Kinsale's conversation, instead.

"I considered telling him exactly where his little merger with Hubert would be without my help, but I figured there was little point as he would never believe me. Later that night," Maleficent shot Rose a sidelong glance, "the Princess Aurora paid me a secretive visit of her own."

"And why did you think she had come to visit you?"

Maleficent rolled her eyes again. "I supposed she had gotten wind that I was alive and wished to see me for herself, perhaps ask why I wanted her dead."

"And Princess Aurora, why did you come to see Maleficent?"

Kinsale was still crafting her story. A part of Rose still found it disturbing, but she was also rather helplessly drawn in by Kinsale's enthusiasm. "I...well," she began, her voice weak, "Philip...told me that she was alive and I...ah...well, he doesn't ever tell me everything that's going on, so I...sort of snuck out of my room and learned that my...that the good fairies were planning to...to execute her," she swallowed, "and...I don't know, I had to know the truth. About...many things."

Kinsale nodded and motioned for Maleficent to continue.

Maleficent's lip curled, but somehow it seemed more mocking than malicious. "As I'm sure you've been hoping from the beginning, out of the kindness of her heart, the princess agreed to remove my chains on the condition that, wherever I went, I would take her with me."

Kinsale leaned forward, "I see! Aurora gave you your freedom and you gave Aurora hers! How delightful!"

Maleficent scowled, then cast another sideways glance at Rose. "The princess is very fond of one of your books," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Really?" Kinsale clasped a hand to her heart, redirecting her attention to Rose, who shrank into her seat. "Oh, how delightful! Which one?"

" _The Biography of Mistress Acacia_ ," said Rose. She tried to swallow the lump slowly forming in her throat.

"Mistress Acacia! Oh, that is wonderful! Have you read the whole story?"

Rose blushed and looked down at her hands as she shook her head.

"Oh dear, I did not mean to cause you embarrassment!" she exclaimed. She placed a hand gently on Rose's arm. Rose flinched away in surprise, but Kinsale pretended not to notice. "How far have you gotten?"

"Not very far at all," Rose said to her hands. "I just read the part about the people of the kingdom beginning to blame Acacia for the food shortage."

"Oh, what a fascinating story! I could have written several volumes on Mistress Cordelia, given the opportunity. Unfortunately, I only ever met her once, and she was not too keen on speaking with me. I was a young thing then, had never published anything, had no name, no credibility, of course she wouldn't have anything to do with me, legend that she was." In spite of herself, Rose looked up at Kinsale, captivated by the exuberant tale she told.

"And you know, a story like that isn't really anything without some first-hand information. Acacia was quite remarkable, though. She suffered such adversity at such a young age, and yet, she was still quite a charming, personable woman. Not unlike Mistress Maleficent," Kinsale said with another wink.

Rose averted her eyes once more, but she wasn't quite able to contain her smile.  _Personable_ wasn't a word she would use to describe Maleficent, and yet she did have a dark sort of charm about her.

"Tell me, Aurora," said Kinsale. "Were you offended by my portrayal of the humans in that part of the story?"

Rose shook her head, surprised, "No, I, ah... I thought it was," she swallowed again, "very diplomatic... I, ah...I mean..." she found her thoughts difficult to put into words, for her opinion was based on so much more than the little bit of Kinsale's book she had read. "I don't really...think it's right that they didn't blame the good fairy who started the problem..."

Kinsale smirked and gave Maleficent a pointed look. "You've been a bad influence on her already, I see."

"I have done nothing of the sort," Maleficent replied crisply. "I was not aware that she was reading  _Mistress Acacia_  until yesterday evening."

Kinsale chuckled, "Whatever you say. Well, Aurora, I hope you will keep me informed of what you think of the rest of the book!"

Rose nodded quickly, hoping this meant that her part of the conversation was over for the moment.

"Now, where have you been since the dungeons of the Eastern Fortress?"

"Eastern Fortress," Maleficent echoed derisively. "We've been living in the castle in the Dragon Country, of course. Where else?"

"What a beautiful land," Kinsale replied, undeterred. "How do you find it, Aurora?"

"Oh...yes. Very lovely."

"How are the dragons these days, Maleficent?"

"Well, that is actually the purpose of my visit. I hoped you might have some insight on this matter. All of the dragons are gone except for one, who is at most a year old."

"No!" Kinsale gasped. "Does the juvenile know anything? Can you communicate with him?"

Maleficent nodded and Rose saw in her eyes an echo of the listless panic Maleficent had exhibited a few days ago. "He faintly remembers a storm or explosion of some sort. Shortly thereafter, everyone became very ill and started dying off in scores."

Kinsale's expression of jovial fascination had turned to one of grim concern. Rose wondered whether Kinsale truly cared or whether it was merely another story to her. "That doesn't sound good at all, does it?"

"To make matters worse, I haven't seen a single person in the nearby village who appears to be even middle-aged."

"That is odd. And it doesn't seem like a passer-by thing to do," Kinsale tapped her chin again. "But to my knowledge, you're the only living wicked fairy with any connection to the Dragon Country."

"Unless of course Adara is still alive."

Kinsale shook her head, "Now who's making a good story?"

"Tell me it's impossible," said Maleficent, lifting her chin.

"Now Maleficent," said Kinsale firmly, "no one has seen or heard from her in over a century."

Maleficent rolled her eyes once more and looked away. "Yes, yes," she said absently. "I suppose I only wanted your opinion on the matter." Rose was stunned by how quickly she had conceded to Kinsale's opinion.

"My opinion is that it was not Adara," said Kinsale. "You're right, of course—nothing is impossible, but it makes less sense than, say, a disciple of Mistress Sara."

"Ah," Maleficent responded, but she seemed to return only partially from whatever faraway place her mind had drifted off to. "I had not considered Mistress Sara."

Kinsale nodded grimly, "I fear that Sara must always be considered these days. I am dreadfully sorry, Aurora—do you know about Mistress Sara?"

"Is she the same Mistress Sara who defeated Mistress Cordelia?" asked Rose. Hadn't that been...well, centuries ago? How long did wicked fairies live, exactly?

"That's the one!" said Kinsale, her previous glee returning in an instant. "My, but the Sea Kingdom is a lovely place to visit! Have you ever seen the ocean?"

Rose shook her head and leaned forward in her seat.

"You think the Dragon Country is beautiful—oh, just wait until you see the Kingdom by the Sea! And if you are fond of Mistress Acacia's story, you simply must visit all of the historical places there! Why, if Maleficent is too busy brooding over her schoolbooks, I shall take you, myself!"

Maleficent's expression was as impassive as usual, but the expression in her eyes was something akin to a glower.

"Excuse me," said Kinsale, "I've gotten off-topic. Maleficent, you wouldn't know this, having been so preoccupied over the last few years, but Mistress Sara has gathered something of a fanatical following amongst good fairies. Felicity is one of them—honestly, I would have expected Flora to be one of them."

"Yes, well," said Maleficent, "she was rather busy hiding the princess from me."

Again, Rose felt her stomach twisting itself into knots. She could easily imagine their friendly conversation without her presence as they rejoiced in her endless Sleeping Curse, or in her death.

"Of course, of course," said Kinsale lightly, waving her hands erratically at nothing, "My, what a lot of serious talk in one sitting! Aurora, would you care to take a tour of my home?"

Though Rose had many reasons to be wary of Mistress Kinsale, she could not help but find her fascinating, and her warmth and friendliness, while slightly jarring in juxtaposition to the things she seemed to find important, were a welcome change from Maleficent's gloomy demeanour. Anyway, she couldn't very well refuse Kinsale's offer, and it was a very lovely house. "Yes, I would like that," Rose said, forcing a thin smile.

Kinsale smiled, delighted once more. "Wonderful! Maleficent, are you staying here?"

"I am certain you two will find much to discuss in my absence," Maleficent replied, but her mind was clearly still elsewhere.

Kinsale waved her hand in the general direction of Maleficent's empty teacup, which promptly filled itself with more steaming, delicious-smelling raspberry tea. "Enjoy the echo of your own voice," she said sweetly. She offered her arm to Rose and they made their way out of the grand ballroom and to a foyer which contained nothing but an enormous staircase.

"There's little to see on the first floor besides the ballroom and the giant stormcloud constantly looming over Maleficent's head," said Kinsale as they ascended the stairs.

Rose almost laughed. "I thought it was my fault."

Kinsale shook her head. "Of course not. Maleficent's own mind is her worst enemy. Though I expect you get under her skin a fair bit more than she likes."

"How do you figure that?" Rose asked.

They reached the top of the stairs and Kinsale led her into the first room there. "This is my main library," she said. She waved her hand and the room exploded in light. Rose gasped and for a moment could not catch her breath. She had never seen more books in her life. The walls were lined with them. She could not see where one shelf ended and the next began. She almost missed the chairs and tables in the room, and it occurred to her that there was no way of reaching the better part of the books...unless, she reminded herself, one could use magic.

"Maleficent used to have a stunning library—it put this one to shame. But I suspect it's very much out of date and untended now. And I know Adara never cared much for books—she read only what she must. She was very creative with spells, though. That was her most frightening advantage. Excuse me—I meant to say, Maleficent isn't used to being fond of people."

Rose whipped her head around to look at Kinsale. "Fond of people?" she repeated incredulously. The notion was so absurd to her that she was momentarily distracted from how uneasy Kinsale made her feel. "Half the time it seems she's barely restraining herself from snapping my neck."

Kinsale chuckled lightly, a disquieting reaction which chilled Rose to the bone, and she wished she hadn't said anything. "I'm afraid that's just her sweet disposition," she said with a shrug. "If you want my opinion, I don't think Maleficent has it in her to kill an innocent girl like you."

"You can't get much more innocent than a baby," Rose replied sceptically, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in her stomach.

"No," said Kinsale thoughtfully, "but let me see if I can explain this. It's much easier for someone like Maleficent to imagine killing off something like a baby—something which doesn't have any significance to her, which doesn't bear much weight in her mind—than a sentient person, especially one she doesn't actively dislike."

Rose struggled with this idea, that an innocent baby could seem insignificant and easy to kill. "I'm afraid I still don't understand. How could someone wish harm to someone who was completely defenceless?"

Kinsale considered this, tapping a finger against her chin. "Consider that a newborn baby princess isn't completely defenceless," she said slowly. "She has her parents, the King and Queen, who have an army at their disposal. She has three Good Fairy guardians who are bound by their duty as King's Counselors to defend her. Indeed, this particular newborn princess has three kingdoms worth of people who will likely go to task for her if the need arises."

Rose frowned and began wringing her hands uncomfortably. "I suppose I see what you're saying, at least...but that doesn't really excuse what she did...or what she meant to do, anyway."

"I wasn't trying to excuse Maleficent's actions, only to clarify them," Kinsale replied with a small shrug. "Maleficent's curse was not an act against you, personally. It was an act against you as a faceless entity—namely, the baby princess—and an act against you as you relate to your kingdom. I can't speak for her, of course, but based upon what I know of Maleficent, this seems the most likely explanation for her behaviour. That certainly doesn't make it excusable by human standards."

 _What about your standards?_  Rose wanted to ask, but she bit her tongue and considered the information she had been offered.

It made sense with what Maleficent had told her earlier, namely that she had cursed Rose because Queen Leah, her mother, had broken some kind of deal with her. And if Rose were to believe Kinsale, that would mean that she was truly no longer in danger. It didn't seem like a particularly good idea to let her guard down, and yet if she were still in danger, there would be little she could do to defend herself. Her disbelief wouldn't stop someone who was bent upon killing her, anyway.

"I'm still not sure I believe that she doesn't actively dislike me, as you put it," Rose murmured, still wrapped up in thought.

Kinsale laughed again and placed a hand on Rose's shoulder. Rose flinched involuntarily, but she made an effort not to shy away. "I'm afraid you'll simply have to trust me on that one," said Kinsale, squeezing Rose's shoulder affectionately. "I've known Maleficent since she was only a bit older than you are. On we go."

Rose followed Kinsale out of the library contemplating an entirely new branch of questions. How long ago had Maleficent been nearly Rose's age? Rose had thought at first glance that Maleficent was fairly young—maybe in her thirties at most. The thinness of her face emphasized the sharpness of her features and gave her an air of maturity, but she didn't have a single wrinkle, and her skin was smooth and flawless.

But Maleficent had left the Dragon Country nearly a century ago. Meaning she was more than a century old.

Kinsale generally appeared and gave off the air of being younger than Maleficent. Her face was rounder, her voice was lighter, and she seemed altogether far less troubled, though that mostly proved to be somewhat disconcerting.

"This is my study, and it doubles as my mail room," said Kinsale, as she opened a door at the end of the hallway. Behind the door were a few stairs which led to a large room with a high ceiling. In the center of the room was a writing desk covered in loose papers and many unique, colourful quills. The room was lined by huge windows which overlooked the hilly fields over which Rose and Maleficent had walked. Occupying the windowsills were perhaps a dozen doves of varying colours, all of whom cooed happily at the sight of Kinsale.

"Oh!" Rose exclaimed with a smile. "What lovely birds!"

"They're very friendly," Kinsale said with an encouraging smile.

Rose glanced back at her, still a bit uncertain, but ultimately, she ventured toward the windowsill. The birds cooed to her, as well, and when her face inevitably lit up in a smile, one of them flew to her and lit upon her shoulder. Rose reached up to stroke the peach-coloured feathers above the dove's beak and found that she instantly liked Kinsale much better.

"I've always found birds to be very good judges of character, you know," said Kinsale, echoing Rose's own thoughts.

Rose smiled at her in surprise. "Sometimes I think I understand birds better than I understand people."

Kinsale tilted her head slightly, studying Rose, but the gesture didn't make Rose as uncomfortable as it had before. "I do hope you'll take my offer of correspondence seriously," she said, approaching Rose slowly. "It must be a difficult situation that brought you here, and Maleficent is a difficult person. I may not be an ideal confidante for you, but I'd hate for you to feel you have no one to talk to."

Rose averted her eyes. "Thank you," she said, and she found that the words were genuine. "It would be nice...to have someone to talk to."

Kinsale touched Rose's shoulder again and Rose looked up. "You and Maleficent might have more in common than you think," said Kinsale.

Rose scoffed and shook her head. "Maybe, but you said yourself she's not the easiest person to communicate with."

"Perhaps not," Kinsale sighed thoughtfully. "Maybe...consider that the reasons she can be a bit...standoffish...aren't what you think they are. Oh!"

Before Rose could ask for clarification, Kinsale moved past her and gazed at something outside in the field. Rose turned to look, too, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"It seems I have more unexpected guests," said Kinsale pleasantly. Shortly after she had finished speaking, bells and alarms began sounding from everywhere and nowhere in particular, and Rose yelped in fright. Not a second later, Maleficent appeared in a burst of green flame, which caused Rose to clutch at her heart in terrified surprise.

"What in Hell's name is that disdainful noise?" she snapped at Kinsale.

Kinsale seemed remarkably unconcerned. She rolled her eyes waved her hands, and the noises were replaced by deafening silence. "Excuse me," she said. She touched two fingers to her throat and then, as she had when Maleficent and Rose had arrived, bellowed "WHO GOES THERE?"

The voice which responded came, as Kinsale's amplified voice and the alarm sounds had, from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It resonated in Briar Rose's head and heart and she felt as if there were no escape to be had, for the voice occupied every corner of the room and of her mind.

"Mistress Kinsale of the Valley? This is Mistress Flora of the Three Kingdoms. We have never met before, but my sisters and I have come on an errand of the utmost importance. Can you spare us a few moments?"


	6. The Unwelcome

Rose wanted to cry. She clasped a hand over her mouth and blinked furiously against an overwhelming onslaught of tears. Kinsale and Maleficent both eyed her curiously.

"I—I can't—oh, I...please, I can't talk to them, not yet..."

Kinsale put one finger of her free hand to her lips in a shushing motion, then said, for the benefit of her visitors, "Mistress Flora, it will be a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm sure. Please come in."

She removed her hand from her throat. "To be clear, Princess Aurora, what you want is time, yes? I can lead them off your trail if that's what you want."

Rose was too overcome to do anything but to nod. Kinsale descended the small staircase and exited the mail room. The sound of the door closing was followed by the click of a lock, and yet there was none on the door.

One the one hand, Rose felt extremely guilty for continuing to allow her aunts to search for her, and to believe she was in danger. On the other hand, what if she was in danger? What if this was her only chance at a rescue, and she was allowing Kinsale to lead her aunts off of her trail.

But she couldn't talk to them—not now, not yet. Not when she was just beginning to grasp at something like freedom. If she looked at them, if she spoke to them, she wouldn't be able to fight off her guilt, and she would return with them, and once she was back in King Stefan's castle, she was fairly certain there would be no leaving again. This reminder of the confining destiny of Princess Aurora caused Briar Rose to fall into hysterics anew, and she found it difficult to catch her breath.

To top it all off, Rose was still exhausted, and she felt she must look like a mess. She shoved tangled handfuls of her hair away from her face as she wiped the tears away, and she noted vaguely that Maleficent was glancing around the room uncomfortably. "I—I'm...s-s-sorry," she managed, clutching at her heart and covering her face.

"Is there something I can do?" Maleficent asked, more to the ceiling than to anything else.

Rose tried and failed to stop crying, and she sat upon Kinsale's windowsill for support. "I just wish I could...I don't know, comb my hair!" she wailed helplessly. At least that seemed like a problem that could be solved.

Maleficent looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Ah," she said. She reached her hand up into the air and pulled a lovely silver comb out of nowhere, which she tossed to Rose.

Rose caught the comb with a small murmur of surprise and examined it—it was, like most things Maleficent owned, exquisitely detailed, and it distracted her somewhat from her distress. "Did you just make this?" she asked after a moment.

"No, I never leave home without my invisible storage cabinets," Rose looked up and found that Maleficent was smirking. "Of course I made it."

Rose looked away at nothing in particular as she flipped her long hair over one shoulder and began working at the ends. "Thank you for the comb," she said. Already she felt oddly soothed by the mindless activity. "What...what do you suppose Kinsale will say to them?"

Maleficent, who appeared to be contemplating Kinsale's writing desk, waved her hand absently in the direction of the door.

"…originally wanted to speak to you about, if you don't mind?" Rose gazed awe-struck at Maleficent, who continued to ignore her.

"Of course, of course," Kinsale replied, much of the warmth drained from her voice.

Do you know a Mistress Maleficent?" It was so odd to hear Flora's voice again, and it made Rose feel sick to her stomach. This was the only incarnation of Flora Rose had encountered in some time. Flora was doing her job, strictly business, no time for emotions anymore.

"Yes, why do you ask?" Rose was stricken by the change in Kinsale's demeanour: she did not necessarily sound unfriendly, but there was a certain edge to her tone, not unlike the manner in which Maleficent often spoke.

"Maleficent recently caused a great deal of trouble in the Kingdom of the East—are you aware of that?"

"Hmm," Kinsale took her time to respond, "I know she cursed King Stefan's baby a few years ago, but I was told the princess was quite all right. Is there something else?"

Rose wondered if her beloved Aunt Flora had been as chilled as Rose was by Kinsale's cavalier attitude toward Maleficent's curse.

She heard Flora sigh, "Quite all right, indeed. Maleficent's curse broke that poor little girl. She couldn't tell up from down by the time she got to the castle. And her poor husband! Could hardly bear to be around her, she was so confused all the time."

Maleficent was still inspecting what appeared to be a small scratch in Kinsale's desk. Rose felt herself beginning to cry again, and though she tried to keep herself together, she wanted to argue with Flora, and at the same time agree with Flora, and at the same time argue with Maleficent, and at the same time, seek comfort with her, and she only succeeded in confusing herself even further.

Perhaps the Sleeping Curse had broken her. How would she know? She was only her, after all.

"So after Prince Philip of the North defeated Maleficent, we locked her in the dungeon in case she recovered, and by some dark means, she did," Flora paused, as if expecting some response.

Kinsale chuckled lightly, "Yes, well, it is rather difficult to be rid of a wicked fairy forever. Tell me, how is it you kept her in a dungeon after her recovery?"

"I acquired the Chains of Avasina from Mistress Felicity," Flora responded, as though that were a non-issue. "At any rate, the Chains did not work."

"The Chains always work," Kinsale replied. "Did Felicity make them? Her magic alone could not restrain someone as powerful as Maleficent."

"No, Felicity did not  _make_  them," Flora spat with a little huff of frustration. "She got them from someone in the Mountainlands—a specialist of magical artifacts."

"Oh," said Kinsale, her voice tinged with amusement, "well, then, they should have worked. What makes you think they didn't?"

"Maleficent somehow enchanted the Princess Aurora to come down to the dungeons and free her."

"I see," said Kinsale, as though this were a revelation. Were all wicked fairies such seamless liars?

Maleficent finally looked up from whatever imaginary imperfection she was examining, apparently considering this interpretation of what had happened. "I suppose that makes sense," she said quietly.

Rose wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm such a coward."

"How do you mean?" asked Maleficent. She didn't sound particularly interested, but Rose would take it.

"Hiding from them," she said. "They're only trying to help me."

"They're trying to get you back to where they think you belong," Maleficent replied, but she still wasn't looking at Rose.

Rose shook her head. "That can't be true," she said, then bit her lip for a second. "Well, not entirely, anyway. They think I'm in danger. And...you seem remarkably unconcerned," she added, her brow furrowing.

Maleficent tilted her head, contemplating this. "I admit I don't mind the notion of wasting a bit of their precious time," she said with a hint of a smirk.

"—and then she disappeared and took the princess with her!" Flora finished her heated explanation.

"Oh, my," said Kinsale.

"I am glad you see our point of view," said Flora kindly, as though to a child. "Now, we should very much like to find Maleficent before she has done any more harm to that poor girl. Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Kinsale thought for a moment, "I'm afraid I haven't seen Maleficent in many years. She once spent a bit of time in the Mountainlands, but aside from the Three Kingdoms, she's never stayed in one place for too long. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"Where are the Mountainlands?" Rose asked.

"Very far away," said Maleficent quietly. "North of the Sea Kingdom. Assuming they buy it, you might have more time than you bargained for."

"Do you by any chance know what Maleficent's connection to the Kingdom between Two Rivers might be?" asked Flora.

"The Kingdom between Two Rivers," Kinsale repeated slowly, as if contemplating. "Is that the one with the Dragon Country?"

"That's the one," said Flora.

"Well, that's the only connection that comes to mind. Maleficent is a very talented shapeshifter, you know."

"All too well," Flora sighed sadly. "Thank you for what information you could give. We'd best be on our way."

Rose swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Flora thought she was in danger. Flora was trying to help her. And what was Rose doing? Not only hiding, but hiding with the enemy.

"If it's any consolation to you," said Kinsale, "I sincerely doubt that Maleficent would harm the girl."

"What makes you say that?" Flora asked, instantly suspicious.

"Well, enchantment or no, the princess did save Maleficent's life by releasing her, am I correct in thinking that?"

"Well…yes…but…"

"All I am saying is that I doubt Maleficent would be so quick to harm the girl if that is the case."

"Mistress Kinsale," Flora began in the voice which suggested a long lecture would soon follow, "with all due respect, I do not take any comfort in the fact that Aurora is in the hands of that monster who tried to  _murder_  her. I am told your kind can have compassion, but I have yet to see any in any of you."

"With all due respect, Mistress Flora," Kinsale echoed, her words clipped, "That isn't my concern. Good day."

"What do you mean by that?" Merryweather's voice came ringing through the door and Rose cringed.

"Good day, ladies."

"You're hiding something," Merryweather said. "You know where they are!"

Rose's heart wrenched in her chest and she cast a searching gaze upon Maleficent, who was still not looking at her. Rose didn't want to be found. If she couldn't face them before, she certainly couldn't face them now, coward that she was.

"I know nothing of the sort," Kinsale replied evenly.

"That's a lie! You're full of lies, all of you!"

Maleficent, probably sensing Rose's eyes upon her, glanced over at her.

"You don't mind?" Rose asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maleficent quirked one eyebrow. "Mind what?"

"—Mistress Merryweather, calm yourself—"

"—You know where they are! Admit it!—"

Rose stood on shaky legs, hands clasped to her heart in a vain effort to ease the way it pounded. "You don't mind...if I stay?"

"—Admit it!"

"Now, Merryweather..." Flora chided. "But Mistress Kinsale, if you did know something—"

As Rose approached Maleficent, she saw that familiar glint in her eye, which suggested something like unease.

"Do what you want to do, Briar Rose," said Maleficent. "I'm not going to stop you."

Rose averted her eyes, again stricken by the delightful absurdity of Maleficent's words.  _Do what you want to do_.

"—You know where she is! You know! You know and you won't tell!"

"I wish I could say that this has been a pleasant meeting, but it has not," said Mistress Kinsale. "Please be on your way."

Rose glanced back at the door from whence the echoes of her beloved aunts' voices came. She ought to tell them. She couldn't run from them forever, and it was cruel to allow them to keep looking for her when she was doing this of her own free will.

She covered her face with her hands and let out a shuddering sigh. "I am such a coward," she whispered.

She couldn't face them because she didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to make them understand. And she couldn't bear to see the look of confusion or disappointment or pity or who knew what else on their faces when she tried. And then, what if they continued to chase after her, thinking she'd lost her mind? What if they sent an army after Maleficent to set her free from some imagined prison?

Rose looked back at Maleficent, who regarded her with some curiosity. She remembered what Maleficent had said...that she should be clear about what she thought and felt...that she should do what she wanted to do. What Rose wanted now was comfort. She clearly couldn't comfort herself, and Merryweather yelling for her was making Rose sick to her stomach with a dreadful mixture of fear and guilt. Averting her eyes once more, Rose held out her hand to Maleficent.

"Shhh, Merryweather, that's enough," said Flora.

"They're all protecting their own, Flora. We can't play like this. She knows! She knows!"

"Merryweather!"

"But Flora—!"

"ENOUGH." This voice was Kinsale's.

Maleficent took Rose's hand, just by the fingertips. Maleficent's hand was not precisely large, but she had unusually long fingers, and they were icy cold. Her skin was soft, but it seemed to be stretched to its limits over the bones of those long, elegant fingers, which made her hand seem hard and unyielding. Rose squeezed Maleficent's hand and felt a bit better about the whole situation, though she was not feeling quite confident enough to meet Maleficent's eyes.

"If I knew anything," Kinsale began—and Rose turned her head back to the door, for the entire essence of Kinsale's voice had altered from that of a gracious party host to that of a creature to be feared, "why In the world would I tell you?"

Rose clasped Maleficent's hand between both of her own, clutching to it in terror at what she heard. A whooshing sound could be heard, like that of rushing water, growing steadily in volume. "Begone!" Kinsale's voice bellowed over the noise just before it swelled to a peak and then became nothingness.

Rose felt a small spark of energy pass through her hands and withdrew them, examining them for the source of the pain. "Ouch!"

But it was Maleficent who exclaimed thusly. She shook both of her hands for several seconds. "My spell went out. I wonder what Kinsale did."

"She didn't hurt them, did she?" Rose asked fearfully as the door opened to reveal a slightly ruffled version of the sorceress in question.

"No, no," said Kinsale with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Just removed them from the premises. My sincerest apologies—I fear my temper got the better of me."

"Yes, well, you wouldn't be the first," Maleficent said.

"Were you close to the Good Fairies, Aurora?" asked Kinsale.

Rose bit her lip, unable to put her feelings toward her aunts into words. "They raised me ever since I was a baby," she said softly. "But they also lied to me about...about so many things, and they expected, I mean...I..." she shook her head sadly and put a hand to her mouth in an effortto stifle more conflicted tears.

"Well, they clearly care for you quite a bit."

Rose nodded silently.

"Anyway, who knows where they'll be headed next, but if they should make their way to the Dragon Country, you're of course welcome to come back and visit if you'd prefer to avoid the confrontation."

Kinsale asked if they would like to stay the night, but Rose and Maleficent seemed to have an unspoken understanding that they would like to go to the place they called home, and so to that strange new place they soon went. Kinsale playfully chided Maleficent for not visiting her often enough, cheerfully repeated to Rose that she should write whenever she felt like it, and then bid them goodbye.

* * *

Left to her own devices as she usually was, Rose sat in the room of Maleficent's sister, slowly making progress in her discovery of Mistress Acacia's life story.

Acacia was described as a small, willowy person with pale bluish-green skin and grey eyes. She was well-liked by her fellow wicked fairies, perhaps because she was not particularly powerful or ambitious. In fact, some described her as a simpleton who had little understanding of the magic she possessed. This was particularly interesting in contrast to the scourge Acacia was made out to be by Mistress Sara and the other good fairies of the surrounding lands. The vast majority of sane-minded wicked fairies, wrote Mistress Kinsale, found Acacia to be perfectly intelligent and charming, but, understandably, reserved, given her precarious situation in the Kingdom by the Sea.

There was a footnote which said, "It is worthwhile to note that the available pool of sane-minded wicked fairies is not a large one." Rose smiled.

She thought back upon her meeting with Mistress Kinsale. She'd found Kinsale even more fascinating than terrifying, and there was something to be said for someone with whom Rose did not find conversation difficult.

The good fairies were chatty, certainly, but the problems there were many and varied. Ever since the revelation of their many untruths, Rose could scarcely bear to speak to them at all. Philip barely deigned to talk to her, let alone to listen to anything she said in response, and everyone else in the castle was under strict orders not to bother her too much with company, because they all thought her so fragile.

In this bizarre new world in which Rose found herself, she'd felt at first that she was even more alone than she had been in her youth, before she knew that she was a different person with some higher purpose to fulfill. Maleficent was a veritable fountain of interesting conversation topics when she chose to be, but when she decided, for whatever reason, that she did not want to talk, she was a woman of very few words, indeed. Rose didn't mind keeping herself company on most occasions, for she'd grown very accustomed to her loneliness over the past sixteen years, but lately, her mind had been such a mess of conflicting information that she could use a more light-hearted conversational distraction from time to time.

Rose hoped that Kinsale was serious in her request for mail, for Rose hoped to write her as soon as she could think of anything at all to say.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed another book which she did not remember seeing on the end table a few minutes earlier. It was a large, blue volume titled  _The Big Book of Spells, Volume II_. Momentarily exhausted with the wordy text of  _Mistress Acacia_ , Rose put her book aside and reached for the book of spells Maleficent had given her to destroy if she so chose.

She knew it made no logical sense that the book should frighten her so. The item itself wasn't magical.

With this in mind, she dared to open the book to the first page. Changing the colour of objects. Rose was hit once again with the near-painful juxtaposition of wanting to laugh and cry at the same time when faced with this particular memory. The spell part made little sense to her, and so she kept flipping pages, images of her wedding dress dancing in her head. Baking cookies of various types, sewing, wrapping gifts, growing flowers...

"You could learn, you know," said Maleficent and Rose abruptly dropped the book.

"What?" she asked, mildly panicked.

"Magic," said Maleficent. She seemed confused by Rose's reaction. "You could learn," she repeated.

"I—I don't—" Rose tried to calm her breathing. "That's not possible. It's not."

Maleficent tilted her head, "If it were impossible, why would I tell you that it is possible?"

Rose averted her eyes. "But it isn't. And I don't want to…even if I could, which I can't, I wouldn't want to learn magic. Magic only complicates things."

"As you wish," said Maleficent. "Though without any knowledge of magic, I can't see how The Big Book of Spells isn't the driest read imaginable. Would you like to have a cup of tea with me?"

Rose nodded and lit from the bed, eager for a change in the course of the conversation. "You have extensive knowledge of magic and you still found it to be the driest read imaginable."

"I read it because I sought information," Maleficent replied. "It's an unusual sort of person who flips through a beginner's academic text for fun."

"Well, it's not as though you stock a lot of light reading."

"You know," said Maleficent over her shoulders as they walked down the stairs, "one option to consider is that you could ask me whether I stock any light reading."

"I assumed that your idea of light reading and mine might differ," Rose replied, her eyes planted firmly on the uneven steps in front of her.

"Perhaps, but it would save you a bit of time looking, wouldn't it?"

"I don't have much else to do."

"Not to mention, needless accusations against my taste in literature."

Rose scoffed, "I bet you find Mistress Acacia to be light reading."

"It is a children's book…"

This caused her to look up in surprise, "What sort of children?"

"Wicked fairy children." Maleficent waved her hand in the general direction of the tea table. "I suppose it's not strictly for children, but that is its target audience. Ask Kinsale if you don't believe me."

"Perhaps when I ask, I'll request a bit of light reading as well."

"You think Kinsale, the famous writer, is less fond of dense literature than I am? I find that illogical."

"I think Kinsale, the famous writer, might be more attuned to the needs of a less educated reader than you, for example."

Maleficent chuckled. "Fair point," she said as they sat at the tea table she had assembled.

Rose barely avoided gaping openly—had she actually won? Well, she supposed it wasn't quite like that. Their banter hadn't actually been confrontational. Rose felt fairly calm, which was the only real indicator she could come up with to back this conjecture. Maleficent never seemed even remotely perturbed by most of their altercations. Still, it certainly felt like a minor victory. Rose smiled.

"Is something on your mind?" Maleficent asked, probably in response to Rose's inexplicable grin.

Rose shook her head, but her smile widened. "The tea is delicious—what's in it?"

"Ginger," Maleficent responded with a raised eyebrow. Several moments passed in relative silence, for Rose could not stop smiling, and Maleficent did her best to avoid making eye contact.

"So tell me," said Maleficent at last, "how do you find Mistress Kinsale?"

"You were right—she is fascinating," Aurora responded. She felt as though she ought to be picking her words carefully, but had no idea why or how to do so. "Not at all what I was expecting."

Maleficent chuckled lightly, "What were you expecting? Someone more like me?"

Rose shrugged, embarrassed. "I suppose."

"You may learn in time that we are both rather unusual for our species," she responded.

Rose bit her lip for a moment before she decided to speak. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but Kinsale is so….friendly. I mean, you are very kind, and very polite and well-mannered, but…it's not as though you don't seem dangerous. Sometimes the things Kinsale says seem a bit...off...but I find it difficult to imagine her harming anyone. One could forget that she was a wicked creature at all."

Maleficent nodded serenely, apparently not offended by Rose's assessment. "One could argue that Kinsale's brand of wickedness is the most malicious of all—because she actively chooses not to make her quite formidable power apparent."

"Oh," Rose considered this. "I suppose that's true."

"I am not implying that Kinsale's entire personality is a ploy to draw in the unsuspecting victim. Kinsale also genuinely likes other people. I am merely stating that it would be a grave error to believe her to be harmless."

"Noted," Rose responded.

Rose wanted her next question to be  _who is Adara_ , but something stopped her. She remembered how tense Maleficent had been when the subject was discussed, and also that Kinsale had dismissed her theory as nonsense. She doubted Maleficent wanted to talk about that just now.

"I'm curious," said Maleficent after another silence, "you say you don't read very well, but oughtn't the good fairies to have taught you?"

Rose averted her gaze. "They tried…I just never thought I would have any use for it."

"Forgive me if this is a topic you don't wish to discuss, but I wonder why they felt the need to keep your identity a secret from you. You did as they asked and never spoke to strangers, did you not?"

Rose concentrated on her tea. "Well…yes. Apart from the one time, with Philip. But in my defense, he did pester me quite a bit before I spoke to him."

"You rarely even saw other people to whom you might speak, am I correct?"

"Well. Yes."

"Then why is it you couldn't know?"

Rose considered this for many very upsetting moments. She gave the best answer she could think of. "I think they thought I'd be frightened, knowing that someone was after me."

"I suppose they could have left that part out. 'You're a princess, and your name is Aurora, but that's a secret. We'll tell you why when you're older.' What's the matter with that?"

"Perhaps that I'd think my parents didn't want me," she offered feebly, half-remembering something Fauna had told her. "They thought I'd be traumatized in some way."

"And yet the trauma you experienced upon finding out that your entire life was a lie was none of their concern?"

"They thought I'd be happy," she said, but this was not said in their defense. She felt that new emotion she'd only recently learned she could feel—surging, sickening anger.

"It is every girl's dream, is it not? To be a princess, marry a handsome prince, have her every whim attended to?"

Rose looked up. Her face was flushed and her eyes stung, welling with tears for the third or fourth time that day—Rose had lost count. "It isn't mine," she shot back. "It wasn't like that. I didn't just want to meet a prince and fall in love and…and…become a princess! It was only a silly little dream, like the fairy tales I read. I wanted to meet someone—anyone! Princes—charming, handsome, romantic princes—were the most strange and foreign thing from my own life that I could imagine! That's all!  _I did not want this_!"

Maleficent's expression remained neutral. "Who are you trying to convince, Briar Rose?"

"You!" Rose replied incredulously. "You're the one goading me, aren't you?"

Maleficent's lips curled up into a small smile. "Yes, but I believe you."

Rose stared at her for several seconds. "You what?"

"I know you didn't want any of it. I think perhaps you feel guilty because you think a small part of you did want it at some point. We cannot be held accountable for the things we wanted when we didn't know better."

Rose swallowed. "Oh," she managed. "Then why were you…?"

"Goading you?"

"Yes."

Maleficent shrugged. "I enjoy it. And I get the feeling you might enjoy it, as well."

"Enjoy what? Arguing?"

"Matching wits."

Rose gave a derisive snort. "As though anyone could match wits with you. Let alone me."

"Until I met you, I hadn't had a proper argument in decades. After I acquired a certain reputation, all of my interactions began boiling down to me attempting to make arguments and the other party snarling senseless obscenities. It's really been quite dull."

Rose hadn't considered that. "Where did you even learn to argue so well? You always have countless things to say and I can never think of a proper response."

"Well, I did have two older sisters."

Rose decided to press her luck. "What were they like? I don't even know their names."

Maleficent's smile fell, but she answered. "The eldest, Seraphina, is the one whose clothes you borrow. She was spirited, contentious, mischievous…sort of what you would expect of a wicked fairy. My middle sister is the one whose room you now occupy, and her name was Acacia."

Rose gasped.

"Perhaps I ought to have mentioned that when I said she was fond of Kinsale's book. At any rate, Acacia was soft-spoken and sensitive, and that got her into quite a bit of trouble."

"How so?"

"She was bullied mercilessly…by my mother, by Seraphina, and by all of the other wicked fairies of our generation."

"Did she get along with Kinsale?"

Maleficent averted her eyes. "They never met. Though she did this…" Maleficent raised her right hand and, out of thin air, a book appeared. This one had a light blue cover which was In perfect condition. On the cover was inscribed  _Mistress Acacia_ accompanied by an ink drawing of what was presumably the sorceress herself.

"This is the second edition of the book which Kinsale released after she had achieved considerable fame. It was also around the time I told her about my late sister." Maleficent opened the book to the title page and handed it to Rose.

_Dedicated to the late Mistress Acacia of the Dragon Country  
and to her loving sister_

Rose bit her lip and tried to ignore the surprising tears welling in her eyes. "That's…very sweet," she managed quietly.

"I thought so," said Maleficent.

Several moments of silence passed as Rose gazed at the dedication. Finally, she gained enough control of herself to hand the book back to Maleficent, who filed it away into nothingness.

* * *

 _The Big Book of Spells, Volume II_  wasn't dedicated to anyone. There were numerous authors, all good fairies with bright, smiling faces who appeared to be about the same age as Rose's faux aunts. The final spell in the book was on how to enchant knitting needles. Rose had not seen a pair of knitting needles until she had come to King Stefan's castle. Fauna had taken up magical knitting again and noted how much the activity soothed her, though to Rose it appeared she was only watching a pair of needles knit and not actually contributing anything except for the initial spell.

Rose could not understand any of the actual spell words; she merely read the various introductory lines for the spells which changed direction and type of stitch. Idly, she ran her finger over what appeared to her to be illegible chicken scratch. She wondered what the words said. How were they pronounced?

She wondered what the spells in Maleficent's books looked like. Were they longer? Or the same length, but more complex? What did the spell which had sentenced her to death look like? What about the spell which turned Maleficent into a fearsome dragon? The spell she had used to grow a forest of thorns around the king's castle?

She thought back to the conversation she had overheard between Flora and Mistress Kinsale and considered those spells. The spell someone used to create the Chains of Avasina, the spell created to enchant the sword which had almost killed Maleficent, the spell Merryweather used to put Rose to sleep instead of to death.

To her they all looked like blots of unintelligible ink, and yet these sketches of meaninglessness had shaped her entire life.

Rose flipped back through the book, stopping on random pages. How to bake a cake, how to enchant a broom, how to change someone's fate, it didn't matter what the pages might say. By chance, these women had been given a power which Rose and countless others had not, and because of that chance, they were free to play everyone else like pawns in one massive, relentless game of chess.

Rose landed upon and proceeded to glare at the title page. She thought of all of the ills that had befallen her because of ostensibly harmless magic and before she could even consider what she was doing, she ripped the page right out of the book.

The next page was a picture of Mistress Hilda of the Mountainlands, who reminded her a bit of Flora. She ripped that one out, too, and threw it across the room. Such was the fate of the other seven or eight sickly sweet smiling faces of the authors of the book.

Changing the colour of objects—rip! Baking a cake—rip! Growing a daisy, enchanting a feather duster, making a sock—rip, rip, rip!

Rose felt a kind of manic joy as she continued tearing out pages. Sometimes she ripped them further into tiny pieces and blew them from her hand. Sometimes she crumpled several pages up together and threw them at various things. Sometimes she folded them into pretty designs, sat them on the bed in front of her, and then smashed them with her fist before tossing them aside. Every bit of pent-up anger she felt toward the good fairies, her lost parents, Philip, and magic as a whole she took out on that book of simple spells. At last—and this gave her the greatest joy of all—she heaved the book's cover—now devoid of pages—directly at the bedroom door, where it made a resounding  _thud_.

Seconds later, three gentle knocks sounded from the other side of the door. Rose choked. She could not say anything.

A moment later, the door slowly creaked open and Maleficent appeared. She glanced around the room with a neutral expression. Rose held her breath.

Finally, Maleficent said quietly, "You know, I had intended to learn how to enchant knitting needles. Now I'll have to track down another copy."

Rose winced, and she found her voice at last. "Really? Oh, I am so sorry—it's just, you said…I got so angry, I just…but I am so sorry. I can find the section on knitting needles, I can…" she trailed off when she realized Maleficent was chuckling quietly.

"The Eastern Kingdom has never learned to appreciate my sense of humour," she said. "First of all," she held out her hand and several papers from various places about the room came flying toward her. A couple of them were in pieces which reassembled themselves before Rose's eyes before they neatly stacked themselves and fell into Maleficent's waiting hand, "here it is. Second, not only can I enchant knitting needles, I can conjure up a pair. I only said that because it was the only thing I could remember reading in this nonsense book."

An idea seemed to strike Maleficent, and she pulled from the air what appeared to be a long match. She blew upon the match and it caught fire—a magical green flame Rose had heard about and, she realized with a start, witnessed earlier today. Maleficent held the match out to her.

Rose did not move.

"Don't worry," Maleficent said, apparently still in a joking mood. "I can teach you if you ever decide you want to learn. No need to read this drivel."

When Rose began to breathe once more, she realized that she was trembling. She inched herself to the edge of the bed and placed the tips of her toes on the floor, her eyes fixed on the eerie green flame.

"You know you want to," said Maleficent, her voice soft, gentle, and dreamy. Rose began to fall under the spell of that beautiful voice, the one she had heard so often in her dreams, but when she hit her knee on the corner of the bed, she leaned down to catch herself and the spell was momentarily broken.

"Quite the sorceress you fancy yourself," said Rose, aiming a look of displeasure at Maleficent.

Maleficent chuckled again. Her good mood was not to be thwarted this evening. "Come now," she said in her usual voice, "I promise not to tease you about wishing I had the book back. Additionally, this room is a mess."

Rose considered the green flame. She couldn't see any harm in it…she had already ripped up the book, after all. She took the last few steps to where Maleficent stood and took the match from her. The flame dimmed and she felt a small surge of…something…in her hand which surprised her so much that she almost dropped the match. Her other hand swooped up to steady her grasp, though, and then the tiny, dim flame stabilized.

"As I suspected," Maleficent said quietly.

"What?" Rose breathed.

"You have magic."


	7. The Redirection

Dear Aurora,

What a thrill to receive your letter! I dearly hoped you would take my offer of correspondence seriously, and I am so glad to hear that you continue to find Mistress Acacia's story an engaging one.

This may not be apparent to you as a non-fairy reader, but it is not unusual for wicked fairy mothers to murder their children. It happens most often shortly after birth, for the mother finds that she is physically and emotionally unable to care for the child, and this is, more often than not, an accident. Almost as common is around the time the child is fifteen to twenty, and has really begun to show magical promise. The mother becomes jealous, paranoid that her child will usurp her power, and she attacks before the child is able to properly defend herself. This should explain to you why Mistress Cordelia's many children left the Kingdom by the Sea as soon as they were able.

At the time of the book's first publication, I did conclude that Mistress Acacia must have been infertile, for she had a handful of lovers throughout her relatively short lifetime and none of those unions resulted in children. Even given her mother's obvious fertility as you noted, it is probable that Acacia was not particularly healthy, which would also explain why she could not take the advice of her siblings and leave the Kingdom by the Sea to keep herself safe from Cordelia's wrath. However, many years later, a team of wicked fairies were allowed to investigate the grounds of her former castle, where they found the decayed remains of an infant of unknown species. It's possible that Acacia did give birth to a child and managed to keep it a secret, but it's also possible that the bones belonged to someone else's child. There's a more detailed section on this mystery in the new edition of the book, of which Maleficent has a copy, if it interests you.

You seem very conflicted about the discovery of your magical ability, but it should not surprise you. All royal children are blessed at their christenings with gifts of magic from all of the good fairies in the land. If nothing has gone amiss in your family history, magic has been in your blood for generations. For this reason, almost all people of royal descent are predisposed to have limited magical ability. As you've been touched by Maleficent's magic since your conception, you're likely to have considerably more power at your disposal than most of your kin.

Good fairy spells look like gibberish to me, too, actually. It's always baffled me that Maleficent can read and use them just fine. After many years of study, I can still scarcely make them out at all. I've never used one for fear it might go horribly wrong. Perhaps you ought to take a look at a wicked fairy spell? Unsurprisingly, there isn't a  _Big Book of Spells_  for wicked fairies, as basic spells are generally passed down from mother to child; however, most families keep a small notebook of basic spells scribbled down in case something dreadful should happen. You could ask Maleficent to take a look at hers if you're interested, but the more useful ones have been published.

As to the moral conflict you seem to be expressing, I realize that you must feel utterly victimized by the users of magic in your life, and I can understand how you would want nothing to do with the force which has harmed you so much. An argument could be made that magic is a tragically unnecessary complication in our lives; however, we cannot deny it from existence. I'm not certain what your intentions are, but you must know that if you continue to live among fairies, magic will always be a threat to you. It's true that you could find yourself some secluded, non-magical corner of the world in which to live out your life free of the stuff, but I imagine another move to a place full of unfamiliar faces would be very lonely indeed, and even that would be no guarantee of your freedom from magic forever.

If, however, you intend for any length of time to remain in the midst of the likes of Maleficent and me, we and our kin have an unfair advantage over you. You will always require the protection of someone with magical ability in order to do anything or go anywhere without putting your life in imminent danger. Would it not be in your best interest to attempt to level the playing field? My advice to you would be to learn some defensive magic for your own safety. Then you won't actually be using magic to do anything except to protect yourself, and as an added bonus, you'll be able to protect yourself.

Additionally, you'll get Maleficent off your back. I'm sure you feel that she's trying to manipulate you into using magic when you don't want to, but I assure you it's only that she hates to see a talent go to waste. I applaud you for holding out—she can be quite exhausting when she wants something. I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but if you do decide to pursue magic, certainly with Maleficent, but most especially with anyone else, make certain that it's always on your terms.

Oh, I almost forgot! While it's true that Mistress Acacia's story is intended for fairy children, it was rather unfair of her not to note that fairies are considered children quite a bit longer than humans are. The typical readership of  _Mistress Acacia_  is only a bit younger than you are.

I am delighted to offer you some suggestions of a similar reading level, but I fear I don't know just what will strike your fancy! Mistress Hilda of the Mountainlands, in addition to her numerous contributions to the  _Big Book of Spells_  series, wrote a handful of biographies aimed at younger readers, all detailing the lives of the great good fairies: Mistresses Terra or Gianna might interest you. She also wrote one on Mistress Sara, but I find her later works to be unforgivably biased. I'm afraid I have the market cornered on wicked fairy biographies, but I imagine Maleficent has a copy of Mistress Joy, which you might find worthwhile. Mistress Konstanze of the Black Forest writes lovely fiction—mostly love stories. I doubt Maleficent has any of those, so I'm sending along a couple of my favourites.

Please let me know which ones you like! I hope to hear from you again soon!

Warm regards,

Kinsale

Mistress Kinsale's handwriting was neat and easy to read. Without her intimidating, slightly discomfiting presence, it was easy for Rose to think of her words as warm and friendly, and of her concern as genuine. Rose felt that she somehow knew Kinsale through her writing, if she didn't perhaps fully understand her in person, and Kinsale's letter endeared her to Rose quite a bit more than their first meeting had.

Kinsale's words made perfect sense to Rose, and she had addressed the concerns weighing most heavily on Rose's mind with surprising accuracy. Though she wanted to be unnerved by this, Rose found it somehow comforting that Kinsale could offer Rose some helpful insight into a decision she'd already known deep inside that she must make.

* * *

"Merryweather, I'm surprised at you," Fauna spoke for the first time that afternoon.

"She knows. She knows where they are," Merryweather replied, her voice broken.

Fauna patted her shoulder. "Perhaps, dear, but—"

Flora interrupted her irritably. "But now that we've made ourselves so unwelcome in her house, we're not going to get that information, are we?"

Merryweather humphed. "What would you have us do? Follow her advice and go on a wild goose chase through the Mountainlands because some old wicked fairy said so?"

"What if it were useful information, hmm? What if Maleficent really is in the Mountainlands waiting for us?"

"Oh, what if?"

"Now that we know Mistress Kinsale is most likely on Maleficent's side—"

" _Most likely_? She's a wicked fairy—I could have saved you this whole trip…"

"—we know that we ought not to go to the Mountainlands until we're prepared."

"What about the Kingdom between Two Rivers?" asked Fauna.

"She didn't seem to know much about it," Flora replied with a shake of her head. "It isn't high on our list—there aren't any good fairies there that I know of. Speaking of which, we'd best get to Felicity. She'll be expecting us."

Mistress Kinsale lived in the deepest part of the valley for which the kingdom was named. Mistress Felicity, her sisters, and occasionally a few other good fairies of moderate repute inhabited a small circle of dwellings at the top of a hill. Fauna secretly hoped that the fairies from the Mountainlands were not visiting at the moment, as they had been on her last visit. She found them utterly terrifying.

Felicity's security system was not quite what Mistress Kinsale's was. The three fairy sisters simply flew up to her front door and knocked.

"Flora!" cried Mistress Felicity with a wide smile. "What a pleasure to see you again—come in! Fauna, Merryweather," she said as an afterthought.

Mistress Felicity was of average height, about a head taller than Flora, and her figure was slender. Her hair was long and blonde, and whenever she appeared anywhere in the public eye she let it down and enchanted it to flow elegantly around her. However, as Flora and her sisters could have attested ages ago, long, thick curls were no one's friend on a day to day basis, and Felicity was not so vain that she did not keep her hair tied back under normal circumstances.

In addition to being far more powerful than the three of them combined, she was also at least a century younger than Merryweather, which made it all the more amusing for Fauna and Merryweather to watch Flora attempt to be genuinely nice to her.

"Felicity, dear, thank you so much for meeting with us on such short notice!" Flora gushed as Felicity ushered them into her sitting room.

"Not at all, Flora. Your definition of short notice is my sisters' definition of planning ahead. Please, sit! Will you ladies have anything to drink? Tea?"

"That would be lovely," Flora answered for all of them.

As she spoke, Felicity conjured up a tea set complete with steaming tea. "Now, what is the nature of your visit, Flora? I've been expecting to see the Three Kingdoms declare a Golden Age for at least a couple of months now."

"Unfortunately, we are still under threat from a wicked fairy—an uncommonly powerful one, evidently. The Chains of Avasina failed to contain her."

Felicity frowned and the three sisters noted that her eyes took on a strange glow. "Failed? The Chains never fail."

Flora waved her hand, "So we've been told. Explain to me how else Mistress Maleficent bewitched Stefan's daughter into setting her free."

The way Flora spoke, it was as though the words had lost their meaning to her. Perhaps she'd said them so many times that the image of sweet Rose being deceived by frighteningly cunning Maleficent no longer haunted her as she recounted the event.

Felicity's eyes widened. "What happened? Is the princess all right?"

"Who knows?" Flora cried angrily. "Maleficent disappeared and took Aurora with her."

"Oh no," Felicity said, putting a hand to her heart. "I am terribly sorry, Flora. I had no idea Maleficent had grown to be that powerful."

"I thought I made that rather clear at our last meeting," Flora said unhappily.

"Not that she was too powerful to be contained by the magic of the Mountainland Fairies. Mistress Sara will want to know about this."

"Mistress Sara? But why?"

"The Mountainland Fairies are the strongest fairies living on Earth. If Maleficent will not yield to them, Sara will want to know."

"Well, that's the reason we've come to see you."

"Oh, I see. I can try to get you a meeting with Sara, but I'm not very high in the ranks. I rather thought you would have an easier time of it. Perhaps you ought to try someone else?"

"No, no, we were hoping to assemble a force to go after Maleficent," Flora clarified.

"A force?"

"It wouldn't have to be too large. We did manage to imprison her already."

Felicity's eyes again took on that eerie glow. "You? You had the help of the most powerful artifacts available and by sheer dumb luck you managed to imprison her, evidently for a fortnight at most." She stood and leaned over the tea table. "She disappeared into the night with the princess you risked your lives and your magic to protect and is currently doing who-knows-what to her, and you want to, what? Get a group of friends together and try again?"

"Well, I…I didn't…"

"What? Think of it that way?" Felicity's lovely face contorted into a sneer. "This foolishness has gone on long enough. Do you have any idea what is going on outside of your tiny little kingdom?"

Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather shook their heads silently. Felicity settled back into her seat, but the glow in her eyes remained ever unsettling. "Do you not agree that wicked fairies are a menace to society? An unwelcome complication in our lives?"

They nodded.

"And do you not agree that this world would be much better without them?"

Flora and Merryweather nodded. Fauna suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

* * *

A little over a week had passed since Maleficent had more or less tricked Rose into discovering her magical ability. Rose knew Maleficent meant no ill, and Maleficent had even apologized for her deceit, but until she read the words from Kinsale, she had not felt entirely better about it. The letter confirmed an inner need she could not express herself. If she was going to do this, she wanted it to be on her own terms. She had been told too many stories of people being corrupted by magic, swept up in its charms and carried away into eternal damnation. And she knew from considerable experience that she was prone to being swept up by charm. She'd been swept up by the charm of the handsome boy she'd met in the woods, and she'd even occasionally been swept up in that strange, chilling charm Maleficent sometimes exhibited.

During their brief time together, Rose and Maleficent had formed an uneasy sort of camaraderie, and Rose's reasons for wanting to learn a bit of defensive magic were unsurprisingly centered upon Maleficent. Though Rose had more or less accepted that Maleficent no longer posed an immediate threat to her, their relationship was extremely unbalanced, which was the cause of Rose's lingering fear and uncertainty where Maleficent was concerned.

She knew Maleficent felt responsible for protecting Rose because she owed Rose her life, and Rose hoped that having some ability to defend herself might help to level the playing field between them on a personal level. The possibility of venturing out on her own without feeling as though her life were in danger or she were betraying Maleficent's trust in some way had not occurred to her, and only served to further support her plans.

Rose set Kinsale's letter aside and examined the books she had sent along. The first was a small book with a green cover. This was  _Song of the Water Nymph_  by Mistress Konstanze. The second book was much larger and thicker. It had a dark blue cover with an ink drawing depicting two hands reaching for one another and almost touching. It was entitled  _And Yet So Far_. Rose flipped through the first couple of pages. She found a portrait of Mistress Konstanze, whose skin was pine green and whose hair was a green only a shade or two darker. She had a kind face with high, prominent cheekbones and dramatic eyes. The tale was allegedly based on a true story, "but very loosely." Rose set the books aside with Kinsale's letter. She did not feel much like reading now. She wanted to discuss the letter she had just received.

One very large and delightful improvement in Maleficent and Rose's relationship since their visit with Mistress Kinsale was that Maleficent seemed much more willing to talk to Rose than she had at first. Rose supposed this might have something to do with the fact that the issues plaguing her mind no longer directly involved Maleficent, but she would take what she could get as far as conversation was concerned. Maleficent had proven to be as fascinating a conversationalist as Rose had first suspected, and she found it rather exciting to be able to look forward to such conversations on a daily basis.

She found Maleficent sitting in her usual armchair in the ballroom by the fireplace, nose buried in a thick book with a deep red cover.

"Are you always in the mood to read?" she asked. Maleficent took a moment to look up.

"Yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. You read a great deal more often than I can ever imagine doing. I'm not always in the mood to read."

"But you still find reading taxing, am I correct?"

Rose nodded.

"More often than not, I find it relaxing. It's possible that, given more practice, you will begin to find it thus."

Rose nodded again. After a moment's silence, Maleficent spoke once more. "Is there something you wanted to discuss?"

Rose took a deep breath. She'd found that she usually got the best response when she did not beat around the bush. Maleficent responded surprisingly positively to clear, blunt expressions of thoughts, feelings, or opinions. "I want to learn to use magic."

Maleficent's expression remained neutral, but her eyes sparkled with interest. "Really? Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to start? Enchanted crocheting, perhaps?"

Rose's somber mood was not to be disturbed. "I want to learn how to defend myself."

Maleficent closed her book and placed it on the table before her. She stood and turned to face Rose. "A wise choice. I imagine Kinsale's letter had some influence upon this decision?"

"In a manner of speaking. She also offered up an explanation for my inability to comprehend what I saw in the  _Big Book of Spells_."

"That you're a wicked fairy?"

"That I should try reading wicked fairy spells, anyway."

"It's certainly not out of the question." She raised her hand and pulled a small book from nowhere which she then passed to Rose. Finding herself once more overcome with fear, Rose stared at the book blankly until Maleficent said, "Open it."

The book was entitled  _Essential Camouflage_ , and the author was Mistress Zenovia of the Mountainlands. There was a brief introduction, and then the first spell was entitled "Don't Mind Me."

This spell will render you unimportant to the casual observer.  
Advantages: Low magic expenditure  
Disadvantages: Will not work on anyone who is actively looking for you

There was some more information on the creation of the spell, its linguistic derivation, and so on. Rose's eyes fell upon the incantation and she marveled at how different the text looked from the good fairy spells she had seen. First of all, it took up much less space—only one line—and it seemed more akin to words than to drawings. Rose got the feeling that if she looked at the almost-words long enough, she might be able to figure them out.

"What does expenditure mean?" she asked idly.

"Expense, use. Magic expenditure refers to the amount of magical power necessary to perform or maintain a spell. That first one might not be your best bet, though. It won't work on me, so no one will know if you succeed in casting it. May I?"

The request did not make much sense to Rose, but she nodded, nonetheless. Maleficent waved her hand and several pages of the book flipped as though by a gust of wind. The spell Maleficent had chosen was called "Mistaken Identity."

This spell will cause your facial features to appear altered, so that someone who has spotted you will believe he has found the wrong person.  
Advantages: Very low magic expenditure, very favourable results with all targets  
Disadvantages: A last resort.

"A last resort?"

"Mistress Zenovia intends the art of camouflage to be used as an alternative to active magic. If someone who is looking for you has already recognized and approached you, this spell is a final attempt to avoid any interaction whatsoever."

"She must not like parties very much." Rose murmured as she skimmed over the origins on the spell and examined the incantation. Again she got the feeling that if she concentrated hard enough, she could make sense of the words, and she spent the next couple of minutes glaring at the page before Maleficent spoke quietly.

"Touch the words."

"What?"

"With your fingers. Touch the words of the spell."

Rose balanced the book in her left hand. Experimentally, she lightly tapped the spell with two fingers. Nothing happened. She tried again with three. Maleficent approached her and took her hand gently, and Rose shivered involuntarily. Maleficent folded all of Rose's fingers down except for her index finger and guided it in a slow, sweeping motion over the words.

And suddenly they were  _words_. Rose's fingertip tingled and her vision became blurry and dim. All that she could see clearly were the words of the incantation.

"I am someone else," she murmured softly.

Maleficent let go of her hand and the world came back into focus. Now that she had read the incantation, though, she could see  _I am someone else_  as clearly as any of the other text on the page. She tore her eyes away from the book to gaze up at Maleficent in wonder. "I can see it now," she said.

Maleficent smiled. She turned the page.

Now You See Me  
This spell will make you invisible.  
Advantages: Favourable results on all targets  
Disadvantages: High magic expenditure when unpracticed. If someone sees you disappear, you might have some explaining to do.

"This seems like a bit of a leap in difficulty."

"Perhaps. Try it."

Rose swallowed and gazed at the incantation. Again she saw only unfamiliar text which looked almost,  _almost_  legible. She traced her finger over the words the way Maleficent had shown her. This incantation was two lines long. She tried at first to trace both at once, but then focused her attention on the first.

 _Now you see me_ …

Rose felt a tingle in her finger which began to spread through her arm, causing it to feel weak. As her finger ran across the words, they became clearer to her.  _Now you see me_  seemed to be written everywhere. She tried to move on to the second line, but the instant her fingertip disconnected with the page, she lost the feeling and the words were only words, legible now, but with no special property about them. Rose sighed in frustration.

"Now you see me…then what? The second I stopped touching the words, I didn't feel them anymore." She shook her head. "That sounds like nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense. In order to learn a spell, you must feel it. Sometimes the only way to conceptualize that is to touch the incantation, to feel it literally. Do the same thing with the second line, then we'll move on."

Rose bit her lip and gazed at the second line. She repeated the slow stroking motions of her finger until she could feel the tingling sensation and from her fingertip flowed the words  _Now you don't_.

Rose felt a painful spark and quickly withdrew her finger. The feeling went away, but the words remained.

_Now you see me,  
Now you don't._

"Multiple-line incantations are tricky, but if you can do this, you can do one line just fine," Maleficent told her. "The next step is to learn to keep that sensation you feel in your fingers when you've stopped touching the incantation. You'll then use that magic to essentially erase yourself from view."

Rose looked up, mildly concerned. "Is it going to hurt? What if I can't get myself back?"

Maleficent shook her head. "If the spell stops working, you simply come back into view. There's absolutely no chance of becoming permanently invisible."

Rose nodded. "All right. What do I do?"

"I'm going to give you all of the instructions at once. If you pause in the middle, it won't work. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"With two fingers, trace the entire spell in one fluid motion: first line, swoop back, second line. If you need to trace it again to feel the magic, keep your finger connected to the page, but don't touch any other words on your way back to the beginning. Once you feel the magic, speak the incantation as you trace the words with your fingers. Do you understand so far?" Rose nodded. "You may need to do this multiple times, but you'll know when you can let go. When you feel it, the magic will be contained in your fingertips. As a test, run them over your other arm. Repeat those instructions to me, please."

"Trace the spell with two fingers: first line, swoop back, second line, swoop around." Rose traced the pattern in the air to remind herself. "When you feel the magic, speak the incantation while still tracing it. When you feel…something…let go and run your fingers over your other arm."

"Correct. Begin."

Rose traced the incantation several times, and only when she was beginning to feel frustrated did she feel the tingling sensation begin. On her next round, she spoke the words, "Now you see me, now you don't," but felt nothing different. She paused and felt the same painful spark.

"Ouch! I didn't do anything!"

"You paused."

"Oh," Rose shook her hand a few more times. "What if the other one only worked because you were touching my hand?"

"It did, but that doesn't change the fact that you could still read the incantation when I let go. Try again."

Rose started over, a somewhat lackluster attempt at first, but when she began to feel the undeniable tingling sensation in her fingertips, she dared to believe for an instant that it was real, that she could do this, and suddenly she was no longer aware of anything else but the task before her. "Now you see me, now you don't," she murmured. "Now you see me, now you don't…now you see me, now you don't…now you see me…now you don't."

She felt a spark, but it was quite unlike the ones before. She felt a surge of power not just in her fingers, or her hand, or even her arm. Her entire body felt full of a force and vitality she had never known. She felt strong. Rose swept her fingertips from the page and over her left arm. It did not disappear completely, but something very strange happened. She could see through herself to the stone floor beneath her. Entranced, she continued the sweeping motion of her fingers up the rest of her arm, but the magic fizzled out somewhere around her shoulder, and her arm slowly faded back into solidness.

She felt mildly disappointed, and suddenly quite exhausted, as though all of the energy she possessed—and even more she hadn't known she possessed—had been drained from her. She looked up to Maleficent, who was smiling.

"Well done," she said.

"It didn't work. And now I am so tired."

"Oh, it worked. You did it. Now you only need practice."

Rose fought to suppress a yawn. "Why am I so tired? I only half-made my arm disappear."

"The spell requires a great deal of magic. Yours has lain dormant for upwards of sixteen years. It is weak and finite, and it will take some time to replenish itself. Have a seat."

Rose obeyed readily. She curled her feet under herself and basked in the warmth emanating from the fireplace.

"Is that what it was like for you? Learning magic?" Rose asked as Maleficent sat across from her.

"With fairies, the learning process mostly involves how to control our magic. As children, we accidentally perform magic constantly. Particularly clever children learn to harness their abilities in various unrefined ways, but in order to master the craft, we must force ourselves to become disciplined."

"So I'll take that to mean that for you, making yourself invisible is akin in effort to a sneeze."

Maleficent chuckled. "That's one way to look at it, I suppose. But humans who possess magic are quite a different matter. Usually they've been taught that they cannot possibly use magic, or that even the rare few who can invariably meet a horrible end. Humans must first bring their abilities to the surface before they can use them properly."

"How is it that I can read wicked fairy spells and not good fairy ones?"

"I suspect it's because you're innately wicked."

Rose's head snapped up in alarm and Maleficent chuckled.

"Oh, don't look so surprised—I know that's the answer you were expecting. Most humans can only read wicked fairy spells. You can learn to read good fairy spells if you want to, but it takes a great deal of time. They are intentionally difficult to understand."

"Kinsale said she can still barely read them, and you read them just fine."

"In the same way that some people are more naturally inclined to learn another language than others," said Maleficent, "I am naturally inclined to understand different varieties of magic with greater ease than most people. It isn't so unusual. Mistress Zenovia wrote another book called  _Demystifying the Good Fairy_ , the aim of which was to deconstruct some useful good fairy spells and explain to wicked fairies how they work. It was quite controversial. Good fairies spent ages trying to make their magic unintelligible to us. The more militant good fairies of the world led a rather bloody crusade. They imprisoned Zenovia, then went around marching any wicked fairy too weak to oppose them out of her home and demanded that she burn the book or face death."

Rose frowned, but her mind was fuzzy. "How could they have gotten away with that?"

"Easily. There are far fewer wicked fairies in the world than good ones, and they aren't particularly willing to unite, nor are their opinions held in particularly high regard by the general public. Kinsale is of the opinion that Mistress Sara is building ranks to wipe us all out of existence."

Maleficent's tone did not change as she revealed this information, but it jolted Rose out of near sleep nonetheless. "But she couldn't, could she?"

"Probably not every last one of us, but supposing that is her plan and she is ready to enact it at this very moment, she could make us very scarce indeed."

Rose felt ill and also dizzyingly sleepy, but she sat upright. "That's a lot of supposing. Is any of it true?" Maleficent seemed remarkably calm if it were so, but Rose supposed that was not a good indicator of the seriousness of any situation.

"It's very likely that this is her ultimate goal—Kinsale wouldn't believe something like that without significant evidence—however, such an attack is not imminent."

Rose did not find this news particularly comforting, but she decided not to press the issue any further. "You and Kinsale seem to know each other very well."

Maleficent nodded. "I have considered her my friend for a very long time."

"How did you meet? When did you meet?"

Maleficent was silent for a moment before she spoke. "I was very young—not even twenty. She was very famous. I had read everything she'd ever written. She invited me to a party. I don't even know how her little messenger bird found me. I didn't live anywhere—I moved all the time. People had heard of me, but I hadn't met very many other wicked fairies in my lifetime. And yet she found me, and I went." Maleficent sighed. "I was rather desperate for company by that time, and she was, by some gracious whim of fate, exactly what I needed her to be."

Rose leaned her head on her hand, trying to fight off the exhaustion which threatened to overtake her. "What was that?"

Maleficent thought about this for a moment. "Persistent," she replied.

This answer troubled Rose somewhat, and yet she wasn't quite alert enough to process the many questions she wanted to ask. She found it difficult to wrap her drowsy mind around the quality of persistence as it pertained to Kinsale and Maleficent, and as it pertained to her own life.

Still, by all appearances, Maleficent led an incredibly solitary existence. Rose had assumed at first that this was by choice, but the more she learned about Maleficent's past, the more it seemed that her life might only be so empty because she had lost a great number of people (and other creatures) who were important to her. It was of some comfort to her that someone—even someone as troubling as Kinsale—had been in Maleficent's life for a long time.

Rose wondered again what a young Maleficent would look like, for she did not appear to be very old. Rose recalled the first time she had set eyes upon Maleficent in King Stefan's dungeon, a memory which still filled her with a vague sense of unease. She had been utterly shocked by Maleficent's youth and beauty, especially because of the way Philip had spoken about her. However, she had already determined that Maleficent must be more than a century old, and the way Maleficent spoke suggested that Kinsale, who generally seemed younger than Maleficent, must be quite a bit older.

Rose wanted to ask, but she felt it would be rude, and the information didn't matter very much. Of the multiple nonsense statements which had occurred to her in her sleepy reverie, Rose decided to respond, "I am very glad you have such a loyal friend." This seemed true enough to Rose. Though she had found some of the things Kinsale said to be a bit disconcerting, Kinsale had made it clear that her loyalties lay with Maleficent, and she seemed to have extended that friendship to Rose because of this.

Maleficent chuckled lightly. "It appears you would benefit from a nap."

"A nap?" Rose asked, her incredulity somewhat dampened by the long yawn that followed. "I was thinking of sleeping the whole night through, thank you. You'd do well to do the same."

"I suppose I would," she responded, her voice rich with amusement. "But I think I might wait until the sun sets, at least."

Rose rubbed her eyes. "Why do I feel as though it's the middle of the night?"

"Magic is a tiresome skill to learn. Go. Get some sleep."

Rose heaved her legs over the edge of the sofa and drew herself drowsily to a standing position. "Good afternoon," she said wryly as she made her way slowly up the stairs.

"Sleep well, Briar Rose," said Maleficent.

Before she was out of sight, a thought occurred to her. "Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"Would you show me?"

"Show you what?"

"The spell."

Maleficent smiled. She made a sweeping gesture, as though bowing. "Now you see me," she said, taking hold of her cloak, "now you don't." She swept her cloak in front of her face and down her body and faded from view. Rose, who was leaning her elbows on the banister, rested her face upon one of her hands and let out an unconscious sigh of contentment.

"Thank you," she said softly to the empty room.

"Sweet dreams," said Maleficent's voice from nowhere and everywhere.

Rose reached up to suppress a yawn against the back of her hand. "You're quite remarkable," she said as she continued her path up the stairs. "But I'm certain you already know that."

Rose had no way of knowing this, but long after she had drifted off to sleep and Maleficent had reappeared and attempted to continue reading her book, her words had left a very conflicted wicked fairy in their wake.


	8. The Chains

The pounding on her door came as little surprise to her. She had been expecting it for months now.

Hiding from one's entire species was no small feat. It was also remarkably lonely; however, she had hidden from the entire world for many years. This, masquerading as a human for just shy of a century, had been relatively calm if nothing else.

The idea of living as a human had come to her as most of her ideas did: abruptly. She had not had much time to think about it. She had been so shocked to come upon a land where there were no resident fairies, and indeed, where magic was not very commonplace at all, and the idea had seemed to her to be an epiphany of the grandest kind. No one would expect it of her. They would believe she had died, and she would be free to live out her life for a time, to blend in and to forget about children and wars raging at her doorstep and magic. Then, when she had rested, perhaps in a century or two, she could begin to plot her revenge. There was no hurry.

She had had some trouble disguising the things about her which marked her as a fairy. The skin had taken the most work, for every time she tried to change it, she came up with a splotchy, ashen colour which fooled no one. So she concentrated on the smaller things: the point at the tip of her ears, her abnormal height, and the way her facial features were arranged.

It took her another couple of years of practice before she managed a satisfactory natural skin tone. She frequently grew frustrated with the ordeal and decided to go back to living on the run, only to change her mind back about a month later and try again. She thought often of her most recent adversary in battle, who could change her entire form at will and who had no trouble remaining that way for long stretches of time. Passing as a human for her would be akin in effort to a sneeze.

Where had she acquired such a useful ability? It wasn't as though she were different or special in any way. The girl shared a father with two other young fairies, both of whom were entirely unremarkable. Each of the girl's sisters had fallen at her feet and begged for mercy. Useless, sniveling little things. It was hardly even worth her while to kill them, only the youngest girl was shrieking and crying not to, and she was the true threat. Had been all along. But if she thought killing the girl's sisters would throw her off her mark, she had been sorely mistaken.

She finally managed a warm brown skin tone which she felt best complemented her raven hair. When she was confident she could retain the colour, she returned to the village in the Kingdom of the Desert Oasis and promptly faded into obscurity.

The years had made her complacent. Her defeat had been humiliating and it haunted her nightmares incessantly, but with decades of perspective between herself and that fateful battle, she realized that she had expected it all along. She kept herself rather well, for she had always had a knack for spinning and sewing. She spun thread, wove lovely fabric, made clothes and repaired the clothes of her neighbours. She did not marry, for she knew she could not keep the secret of her inhumanity in such a situation, but she did have friends. Acquaintances, really, for every twenty years or so, she had to disappear for a while, change her name, and pretend to be her own daughter or niece or whatever struck her fancy. She found that, without children and without magic, life became simple and even enjoyable.

She wasn't certain whether she had ever truly believed she would never see another fairy in her lifetime. In retrospect the concept sounded absolutely ridiculous. And yet, her neighbours had been so surprised to see the willowy, green-skinned woman who breezed through town as though she were floating just above the ground. They had never seen anything like her. It was surreal, watching their reaction to the wicked fairy as she took up residence in an abandoned homestead just outside of town. She found that she missed that reaction terribly. She wanted to be that fairy. She wanted to be herself.

She supposed that could have been what gave her away. It didn't matter now. Perhaps she could ask if she was curious enough.

"On the authority of Mistress Sara of the Kingdom by the Sea, I command you to open the door."

She obeyed. "Good afternoon."

The good fairy at her door could easily overpower her, especially after a century without practice. She was tall and almost muscular in build. Her skin was tan, her hair was short, curly, and dark brown, and her eyes were vibrant green—perhaps they were intentionally glowing. She held her wand like a sword.

"Are you good or wicked?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

The good fairy smiled mirthlessly. "I needn't have asked. You can tell me who you truly are and why you're masquerading as a human, or I can drag the information out of you by whatever means I see fit. Take your pick."

"You're going to kill me, anyway. What does it matter who I am?"

She had never witnessed a good fairy inflicting harm before, and so the hot slash of pain she felt across her body as the good fairy flicked her wand surprised her more than it hurt. "It matters," said the good fairy as she began walking forward, backing the wicked fairy into her house and out of view, "because Mistress Sara wants to be aware of all of the fairies, good and wicked, living on Earth. It was of some concern to her to learn that an unidentified fairy had been hiding for such a long time."

"Mistress Sara…the one who killed Cordelia? She's still around?"

The next slash of pain did hurt, but she still had enough sense not to react.

"Very much so," the good fairy replied. "I'm quickly losing my patience with you, wicked fairy. Tell me your true name."

The wicked fairy grinned, "My name is Maleficent."

She doubled over in pain—she could not help it. Evidently much had changed in the way good fairies were permitted to operate since last she had encountered one.

"Now, now, now," the good fairy chuckled, "we both know that isn't true."

"If you're so knowledgeable about who I am not," the wicked fairy choked, for she was having some difficulty breathing, "how is it you need me to tell you who I am?"

The good fairy placed the tip of her wand at the wicked fairy's throat. "Oh, I don't need you to do anything. Consider this a courtesy. However, I should warn you that if you continue to be difficult, I'll be forced to take drastic action to find out the truth."

"Do you think you can scare me?" It was the wicked fairy's turn to laugh. "What has the world come to when a good fairy thinks her grand talk about 'drastic action' will frighten the likes of me into doing as she says?"

A moment later, when the dizzying pain had subsided somewhat and the world had come back into focus, the wicked fairy realized she was on her knees, with a wand still aimed at her throat. She looked up at the good fairy, whose eyes were twinkling with glee.

"Let's try this again," said the good fairy. "Tell me your name, or I will slice you into pieces and feed them to you."

It seemed more had changed than she could have possibly imagined. "My name," said the wicked fairy quietly, "is Adara."

At least the good fairy had the good grace to look surprised.

* * *

As the days and weeks and months progressed, Fauna was feeling increasingly uneasy about what seemed to be happening.

Fauna had never been much of a networker. If either of her sisters was any good at making connections, it was Flora, and even that was questionable, for some people found her a bit overbearing. Fauna generally got along with most people when she met them, but they seldom remembered her. Why would they? She was forgettable in comparison with her sisters.

It occurred to Fauna that now would be an excellent time to make good on the only true connection she ever felt she had made…if only she could think of a way to do so. She didn't even know where to find the fairy who had befriended her all those years ago, and it wouldn't exactly do to just ask.

The visit to Mistress Felicity—who incidentally, did not remember Fauna's name—had completely altered the course of their plans. Where Flora seemed to have seen it as a minor annoyance that Maleficent had escaped her magical chains, Felicity saw it as a sign that Maleficent was a source of irrepressible chaos who needed to be subdued at the earliest possible opportunity.

Now, Fauna was a great admirer of Mistress Sara, especially since she had met Sara in her youth. Sara was regal and kind, and had since her defeat of Mistress Cordelia come to be considered a leader to those good fairies who chose to remain on Earth. The Fairy Queen and her council lived in the Kingdom of the Skies, of course, but she rarely concerned herself with earthly matters. Fauna had been hoping to encounter Mistress Sara again over the course of their travels.

However, when Felicity had explained Sara's emerging philosophy regarding wicked fairies, Fauna had truly begun to realize how much had changed since she last left the Eastern Kingdom. Fauna's mother had taught her and her sisters that wicked fairies were a necessary evil, that they maintained a balance in the world, and that as long as their powers were used to regulate the natural bad things that happened in the universe and they did not create excessive mischief of their own, they ought to be left well enough alone.

For good fairies as relatively weak as Fauna and her sisters, 'excessive mischief' was a broad term. When Maleficent moved into the abandoned castle of the former Southern Kingdom nearly a century ago, Fauna and her sisters had paid her a visit to assess her potential threat to the land. She was nothing like the sneering, openly vicious wicked fairies Fauna had met in the past. She was very young—probably not even thirty. Though she was extremely tall, usually an indicator of power, she was also gangly, almost awkward. Her expression was stoic, perhaps even sad, and she was generally very quiet. Flora had deemed her harmless.

The three good fairies had all but forgotten about her by the time she started causing trouble about a decade later. Really, she had never done anything to a human which could be traced back to her. She mostly seemed fond of such things as sending nasty weather in the middle of a summer festival, or causing everyone in the kingdom to be very angry with one another for no particular reason—circumstances which bothered Flora and Merryweather endlessly, but which did not directly affect Fauna, for she rather liked a surprising snow in July, and Fauna's sisters were often mad at her or at one another for no reason without Maleficent's influence.

Fauna's relative objectivity toward Maleficent's mischief had granted her a unique perspective. She realized that Maleficent was not actually causing the Three Kingdoms to spiral into chaos as Flora and Merryweather frequently conjectured. Maleficent simply liked to irritate people. This in itself was not necessarily an earth-shattering revelation, for Fauna had never heard of a wicked fairy who didn't like to irritate people; however, Maleficent  _only_  liked to irritate people. She did not seem particularly interested in causing any real misery until she cursed the Princess Aurora.

As such, what seemed a natural progression of Maleficent's obvious evil ways to everyone else in the kingdom struck Fauna as a rather drastic shift in the severity of her offenses.

And certainly it had been dreadful, but it was still odd. Fauna got the feeling that there was more to the story than she knew.

Aside from that, Fauna didn't really see how being more powerful than the Chains of Avasina was Maleficent's fault. Just because Fauna and her sisters were relatively weak as far as fairies went was no reason to blame other fairies for their strength.

Another possibility which everyone—now including Merryweather, who seemed before to have silently agreed with her—was ignoring was that perhaps the Chains had worked. Maleficent was frighteningly intelligent, and her demeanour was often exceedingly polite. Rose had only ever met a handful of other people in her life up until her sixteenth birthday, and in addition to that, she was incredibly kind-hearted. It was extremely possible that Maleficent had convinced Rose to set her free without magic.

But she doubted Flora, Merryweather, and especially Felicity would believe her if they even gave her the opportunity to speak at all.

Fauna did hope Rose was all right. Though she innately felt that this was so, several months had passed since they had last gone anywhere to inquire about Maleficent's whereabouts, again to no avail. Had Rose simply been locked away in a dungeon somewhere all that time, waiting for whatever Maleficent deemed the right moment?

Perhaps most upsetting to consider was that this, that Maleficent had simply left her alone in a dungeon, was the best possible circumstance.

The answer to Fauna's connection problem came unexpectedly.

"Ladies?" came the voice of Felicity's youngest sister, Charity one morning from outside the door of the room where they had been staying. "Felicity has received some information that might be of interest to you."

The information came in the form of a very curt letter from a good fairy in the Desert Lands which Felicity read aloud. "Wicked fairy found masquerading as human. Don't know who she is or how long. Reported her to Sara. Thought you'd want to know."

The next morning, Felicity, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had begun the trek to the Desert Lands. They had first visited Felicity's contact there, a tall, muscular good fairy with short brown hair and cold green eyes (though Fauna had never before considered such a thing possible).

"After Annora died, her daughter came back to take her place," the good fairy explained. "She's weak, so apparently Joy decided she'd take up residence in the south."

"Joy?" asked Fauna before she could stop herself.

"You've heard of her?" asked Felicity, surprised.

Fauna blushed and began to stammer, "Oh, I…I read…a story…about her once. Long ago."

The visit to Joy had been perhaps even more uncomfortable than the visit to Mistress Kinsale. Joy had no interest in speaking with Felicity. Felicity had no interest in speaking with Joy. The only things the party learned from the encounter were that Joy either did not know or was not going to tell them of all people the following: where Maleficent was, who the unidentified wicked fairy masquerading as a human was and whether she had known about it before the good fairy had caught on, and whether these two subjects were in any way related. "Perhaps you should ask the all-knowing Queen Sara," Joy had suggested with a mocking grin.

Fortunately—though it was also quite disappointing—Joy showed no signs of recognizing Fauna.

Ah well. Fauna was no good at making connections with people—she knew that by now. Anyway, Joy wouldn't want to help her now, even if she did remember. Fauna owed her, not the other way around, and she was currently doing their forgotten friendship a dreadful disservice.

* * *

Several months passed in a very strange way. Briar Rose spent every single day practicing magic, which generally meant exhausting herself about an hour and a half after she awoke. Her waking hours became erratic—she awoke, practiced, then went back to sleep and started over anywhere from three to nine hours later.

Rose did not see Maleficent at all for days at a time, and her only indicators that Maleficent had not abandoned her were the books she left on Rose's bedside table.  _Defensive Magic, Defensive Magic for the Offensively Inclined, The Art of Defense_ , and, bizarrely,  _Gardening for Wicked Fairies: Putting that green thumb to work!_ Rose suspected that one was there as a joke, but she found that she was much better at causing small blades of grass to sprout from her bedside table than at any other feat of magic she had attempted thus far.

One evening—Rose figured it was near midnight—Maleficent knocked at Rose's door and found her awake and able to showcase the fruits of her labour. After months of constant practice, Rose could consistently keep her entire person invisible for about three seconds.

As Rose faded back into view, she heaved a sigh of exhaustion. "Useless," she muttered.

"Progress," Maleficent corrected her. "Did any of the books interest you?"

Rose waved her hand at the corner of the bedside table and a small green sprout emerged, which opened up into a very tiny, but still fully formed daisy. She turned her gaze back to Maleficent, who rewarded her with a wry smile.

"I am glad to see you've devoted your time to such useful skills."

Rose lifted her chin defiantly. "I can also do this," she said, quickly raising both of her hands. "Stand back!" Maleficent and the chair she occupied promptly jumped back several steps, and Maleficent made a small exclamation of surprise. Rose barely suppressed a giggle. She wondered if anyone in the history of the world had ever caught Maleficent by surprise before.

"I retract my sarcasm," she said. Rose's heart leapt: Maleficent was impressed with her! "Perhaps you'd like to put your skills to a test tomorrow?"

"What kind of test?"

Maleficent gave her a small, slightly frightening smile. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Rose shivered. She had missed Maleficent's company-this was the most they'd spoken in months—and she supposed there was no way she'd ever actually be able to use her newfound magic unless she practiced against someone who didn't actually intend to hurt her...well, probably didn't, anyway. Still, she couldn't think of a more intimidating first opponent. "All right," she said.

"Excellent," Maleficent replied, and Rose immediately began to second-guess her decision. She decided to change the subject.

"What have you been up to lately? Have you gone anywhere exciting without me?"

"Visiting acquaintances, gathering information, brushing up on my own magic," she replied, moving her chair back to its original position. "Nothing unusual. I went to the Black Forest and the Desert Lands."

"Did you learn anything new? Who did you see there?"

"Konstanze and Eleanore in the Black Forest. They didn't know very much—they both have young children."

"Konstanze—she's the one who writes the romance novels, right?"

"Yes. Eleanore is her sister."

"I started reading  _And Yet So Far_  awhile ago…a week or two, perhaps," Rose couldn't remember now. Days and weeks blurred together in her mind the harder she tried. "Is it odd that the story is about a good fairy?"

"Well, she claims that it's based on a true story. That implies either that she wanted to remain true to that or that she wanted to disguise the identity of someone wicked fairy readers would recognize."

"Oh," Rose replied. "That makes sense. What is she like? What is her sister like?"

"Konstanze and I have never gotten along very well—she wasn't especially pleased to see me. Eleanore was a bit more cordial, but as I mentioned, they're not in a position to participate in any conflict with good fairies, so my visit was a short one."

"Kinsale wrote that wicked fairies are...sometimes ill-equipped to raise children." She wasn't certain what she wanted to ask, exactly. Fortunately, Maleficent understood.

"Incapable mothers usually cannot keep a single child alive for more than a year or two. Konstanze and Eleanore each have three children who seem to be healthy and happy. It's always possible that they could face danger when they approach maturity, but that's quite awhile off."

"I don't exactly understand why that is…the second one."

"Why a wicked fairy would kill her children before their magic has matured?"

"Why she would kill her children at all, I suppose," Rose replied, feeling very uneasy.

Maleficent thought for a moment before she answered. "Generally speaking, only one mature wicked fairy can reside in any land at a time. A less powerful or territorial fairy might resign herself to a single kingdom, as is the case with Konstanze and Eleanore, but it isn't simply a matter of personal disposition. When a fairy takes up permanent residence, her magic binds itself to the land. If the magic of two fairies collides in this way, it can create rather disastrous consequences, even without their intent. Does that make sense?"

Rose nodded. "But it doesn't answer my question."

"No, but it is necessary information if you are to understand the answer," Maleficent explained. "Once a wicked fairy's daughter has reached maturity, she must either leave home or usurp her mother as the wicked fairy who presides over that territory."

"What happened to Konstanze and Eleanore's mother?"

"She's long dead," Maleficent replied, "but they both left home when they matured—there was no conflict."

"What about you?"

Maleficent visibly tensed. "What about me?"

Rose swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "What happened when you and your sisters matured?"

Maleficent met Rose's eyes with a stony gaze that did not invite further questions. "There was a conflict long before any of us reached maturity."

Rose quickly averted her eyes. "Whom did you visit in the Desert Lands?"

There was a moment of silence before Maleficent spoke, but Rose did not dare to look at her just yet. "My acquaintance there was named Annora, but she is dead. Her daughter, Makeda, lives in her former home. She admitted that she isn't as powerful as Annora was—another wicked fairy has taken residence in a neighbouring kingdom, so I visited her, as well."

Rose wondered whether she ought to offer condolences for the loss of another person from Maleficent's past, even though she had only referred to Annora as an acquaintance. It was yet another addition to an unnervingly long list of losses Maleficent had suffered, yet Rose wasn't certain she wanted to call Maleficent's attention to that. She decided to let the moment pass.

"Who was the new wicked fairy?"

"Her name is Joy. She's rather famous—Kinsale wrote her biography some time ago."

"Why is she famous?"

Maleficent chuckled, "Mostly because she gets along so well with good fairies. Or she used to—she even lived in the Kingdom of the Skies for many years. The Fairy Queen is very fond of her."

Rose considered this: from what little she knew, the Kingdom of the Skies was a place reserved for good fairies who did not care to remain on Earth. They were very powerful and not very attuned to the unique struggles of life on Earth, or life as a human. "Has any other wicked fairy ever lived there?"

"Not for nearly as long," Maleficent replied. Rose sensed that she wanted to say more, but she did not.

"Did you speak with her? Joy, I mean?"

Maleficent nodded. "Apparently your good fairies paid her a visit, in the company of Mistress Felicity, no less."

"Mistress…Felicity? Of the Hill Kingdom?" Rose vaguely remembered Kinsale mentioning her.

"That's the one. It's odd—Felicity openly despises wicked fairies. She isn't known to visit them." Maleficent shook her head. "In any event, they asked about my whereabouts, Joy told them she didn't know, and Felicity made some vague threat about 'wishing she had helped her Better Kinfolk.'"

"Better Kinfolk, as in good fairies?"

Maleficent nodded.

"Does Joy believe what you were saying—that Mistress Sara wants to get rid of all wicked fairies?"

"Yes, and she believes that was the implication behind Felicity's threat."

Rose frowned, "Why would Felicity make it sound like Joy would be spared if she were more helpful?"

"There have been many good fairy crusades in the past," said Maleficent. "The good fairies have almost invariably enslaved wicked fairies to help them find the ones they were really after."

"That's…" Rose didn't really have words for it. She swallowed uncomfortably.

"Only very young fairies agree to help them. The good fairies kill them anyway, when they've stopped being useful, and anyone who has been around for awhile knows that."

Rose was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. "But what of Joy? She can't be very young."

"No, but she isn't very strong, magically speaking. Someone like Felicity could overpower her easily."

"Would she help the good fairies, then, if she were overpowered?"

"She knows more about such crusades than most—she knows how it would end."

"That's awful," Rose murmured. She began to fidget. "But don't the good fairies like her anymore?"

"The Fairy Queen likes her—she's neither good nor wicked. Most of the powerful good fairies who liked her are dead now."

Rose bit her lip, considering whether she wanted to ask the question weighing most heavily upon her mind. She began with someone slightly less intimidating. "What about Kinsale?"

Maleficent averted her eyes as she spoke. "Kinsale would be a prime target. She is very famous, and many people mistake her friendliness for weakness. They would soon discover that she is not to be trifled with, but it's likely that she would yield to the Mountainland Fairies."

The Mountainland Fairies, Rose had read, were some of the most powerful fairies living on Earth. They each had specialties, such as defense, elemental magic, or even magical artifacts like the Chains of Avasina which had imprisoned Maleficent.

Rose tried very hard to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as she finally dared to ask, "What about you? If the good fairies did…"

Maleficent looked up at nothing, her brow slightly furrowed. "One very interesting tidbit I learned from my chat with Joy is that I seem to have made quite a name for myself recently."

"How so?"

She turned her gaze upon Rose and smiled. "Somehow, while wearing the Chains of Avasina, I managed to enchant a princess to set me free."

The words stung. Briar Rose felt utterly betrayed. The moment she had come to view as a new beginning in her life had, like everything else, been a result of someone else's magic, and Maleficent had not even bothered to tell her? "You enchanted me?" she choked. She suddenly felt she was going to cry.

Maleficent's smile fell, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Of course not. I couldn't have enchanted you if I tried—I didn't have any magic."

Rose tried very hard to process this information, but she was still reeling from what she had heard just prior. "What? Then…what…why?"

"The Chains of Avasina are based entirely upon two presumptions: that a wicked fairy is useless without her magic, and that no one would help a wicked fairy except another wicked fairy. Perhaps I was a bit manipulative in our conversation, but I didn't lie to you, and the decision to set me free was entirely yours."

Rose had finally gotten a hold of herself. Maleficent had not enchanted her. "Then what was it you were saying earlier?"

"That the good fairies of the East believe I enchanted you is of little consequence. That they have convinced Felicity is something of a different matter. Felicity has a large family, all of whom are likely to believe her. If the news spreads, for example, to someone close to Mistress Sara, every good fairy in the world is going to believe that I am too powerful to be contained by the magic of the Mountainland Fairies."

This took Rose a moment to process, "Meaning that you're the most powerful fairy on Earth. What would happen then?"

"They would call upon the services of fairies living elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" she echoed, and then the answer hit her. "The Kingdom of the Skies?"

Maleficent nodded. "The results of their interference could be disastrous for everyone. They don't know their own strength, so to speak."

Rose felt her entire world imploding for what seemed the hundredth time. Maleficent was in danger, perhaps even more imminent than the danger to the rest of her species.

"Is there anything to be done? Can't you…I don't know…tell everyone that you didn't enchant me?"

"That's a bit tricky," Maleficent replied. Her voice was oddly hollow. "Felicity would never believe a wicked fairy. Theoretically, I could demonstrate to her that the Chains work on me, but that would essentially be putting myself at her mercy."

Rose was fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch Maleficent. Much like the condolences for the loss of her most recent acquaintance, she knew a comforting touch would not be received well.

"Unfortunately, announcing my weakness to any good fairy would be courting disaster. They would either refuse to believe me or they would interpret it as some sort of pathetic plea for mercy. Either way, I don't see what good it would do for me to die simply to prove that I can be killed." She sighed. "At the moment, I shall have to wait and see how this rumour progresses."

"So…there's nothing you can do?" Rose asked, her voice cracking.

Maleficent looked at her again, a small smile playing at her lips. "It's not as though they're going to come knocking at the door tonight. In all likelihood, by the time someone comes after me, you'll be a sorceress in your own right, and you won't require my protection anymore."

Before Rose could respond, Maleficent stood. "Anyway, if you're interested, I plan on making a return trip to the Forbidden Mountains tomorrow."

Rose stared at her blankly.

"To see whether I can revive my raven companion," she clarified.

"Oh!" Rose shook her head. "You found the spell?"

Maleficent nodded. "There's no reverse written for it. It might be useless, but I must try, nonetheless. Would you like to come along? The castle is deserted but for a lot of ravens, and I have a rather extensive library which might interest you."

Rose nodded and attempted a smile. "I would like to come along."

"Very well. I'll wake you in the morning, then," she turned to leave. "Good night, Briar Rose," she said, and then, with a small smile over her shoulder, "I look forward to our challenge."

Rose regarded her for a moment before she decided to speak. "Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

Rose was suddenly reminded of Kinsale's interrupted attempt at giving her advice. Granted, this was not the kind of misunderstanding Rose had lamented at the time. Maleficent had freely admitted that she simply enjoyed being contentious, and anyway, Rose had scarcely talked to her in months—certainly not enough to have an argument.

The trouble now had also happened before, but it had seemed of secondary concern until just now: Maleficent had misinterpreted Rose's concern for her well-being as concern for what would become of her if something happened to Maleficent.

Rose knew from personal experience that believing no one cared for one's well-being was a lonely and rather sad feeling. Perhaps Maleficent did not mind it—perhaps it was different when one could ascertain one's own well-being—but Rose minded. She had on numerous occasions wanted desperately to communicate to Maleficent that she was not nearly as alone in this world as she thought she was, but she had not yet figured out how to do so in a way that Maleficent would accept or even understand.

Rose had been quiet for an uncomfortable length of time, she knew, but Maleficent waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts. "I wanted to say…I am very grateful for your protection."

Maleficent raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. When Rose took another moment to think, she responded, "It's no trouble, Briar Rose."

Rose stood, and she fidgeted with her dress as she struggled to maintain eye contact. "Wait…I…I mean to say…" she took a deep breath. She must do her best to say what she meant, whether Maleficent believed her or not. "I am very grateful for your protection, but I am also grateful for your companionship."

Maleficent did not respond, nor did she move.

"I know it doesn't matter to you. I know that if you were in danger, you would be perfectly capable of fighting back—you wouldn't go down easily—and so this is going to sound meaningless to you…I don't want you to be in danger. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. It's not lost on me that I wouldn't survive for very long without your help, but that's not the reason. I only want you to be well and…and happy and out of danger…because I think of you as a friend. Perhaps my only friend. I hope that's all right."

Maleficent remained silent for a moment, then Rose faintly heard her swallow. Her eyes darted to and fro between Rose and various nonspecific places in the room. "Well," she said at last. "Wanting such things for me may leave you disappointed. Get some sleep." She left very quickly. It seemed as though she removed herself from the room and closed the door behind her in one fluid and lightning-fast motion.

Rose sighed and sat back down on the bed. If she were being honest, Maleficent's reaction had been better than what could have been expected. She hadn't lashed out in anger, nor had she deflected Rose's words with a joke or a snide comment. In fact, she seemed to have taken Rose seriously. That was good—Maleficent believed her. Rose nodded to herself. Whatever her feelings on the matter, Maleficent did believe her. That would have to be good enough for now.


	9. The Loss

Briar Rose guessed that the coolness Maleficent had exhibited toward her that morning was to be expected. It always seemed to be one step forward, two steps back with her. Still, she hadn't reneged on her promise to take Rose with her to the Forbidden Mountains, which was a vast improvement upon the last time Rose had attempted to reach out emotionally.

Maleficent's library was, as promised, quite impressive; however, three quarters of Maleficent's entire collection was physically beyond her reach. Maleficent was quite a bit taller than Rose (indeed, she was quite a bit taller than most people), but the bookshelves seemed to go on forever above her head. Finally, after an embarrassingly long time of staring at a particular red book entitled  _Non-Aggressive Battle Magic_ , the answer finally occurred to her: there was no ladder because Maleficent didn't need a ladder. She had magic.

After another hour of trying to magically beckon the book down to her, Rose was ready to give up and ask Maleficent for the requisite incantation. She knew, however, that Maleficent was hard at work on her own project, one which dealt with the sensitive matter of her raven companion, and Rose was loath to disturb her. She tried to think through the small list of spells she knew and what they had in common. None of them were harmful, most of them were stronger when she said the incantation aloud, the length varied, but the ones in a language she could understand were all phrased as statements or commands.  _Stay back_ ,  _Grow_ ,  _Don't mind me_ …they were all commands!

Rose eyed the red book she wanted and held out her hand. She tried to remember what it was like to hold the magic power in her hand, to feel it coursing through her veins. "Come here!" she said firmly.

The book obeyed so quickly that Rose barely had time to catch it.

Now, with her options much less significantly limited, Rose set aside several other books she felt might be useful or interesting, replacing on lower shelves the ones she could barely understand. She was distracted from her perusal when she came across the biography of Mistress Joy, as written by Mistress Kinsale of the Valley. She sat down at Maleficent's writing desk and began to flip through it.

Joy was born to a Desert Land fairy named Mira. She was the second of six children, one sister and four brothers. She was described as a small person, both in height and stature, and was therefore not as powerful as the rest of her family, but she was very quick, both in body and in mind, and she had a unique talent for talking people into agreeing with her, particularly good fairies.

Though Kinsale did not state it explicitly, it seemed that some kind of crusade against wicked fairies like Maleficent had described had been going on during Joy's early childhood. The Desert Lands were far away from the true conflict, however, and since Joy's mother had young children and a husband who was still present, she was not disturbed.

When she was nearing maturity, Joy made a controversial friend: the good fairy Terra, originally of the Black Forest. "As is often the case when a good fairy and a wicked fairy decide to overlook their ancient enmity, Joy and Terra learned a great deal from one another. Terra learned the art of defensive magic and how to think quickly to outwit an opponent, and Joy learned how to manipulate nature to do her bidding, as well as that most complex art of reading good fairy spells."

When Joy reached maturity, she sensed two things: her father was ready to abandon the family, and her mother would fight Joy to the death to defend her claim on the land. Joy decided to avoid the confrontation, depart in secret along with her father, and to travel with him and with her older brother until she could find a place to call her own.

"Joy had, in the haste of her decision, neglected to tell her friend, Terra, of her plans. The news of her departure came as a great surprise to Terra. With what devastation Terra reacted to the news came as a surprise of equal measure to her family."

The description of Terra's devastation continued for several pages. She stopped eating, barely slept, and disappeared for long stretches of time. Kinsale did not even posit a suggestion as to the cause of Terra's behavior, and Rose got the sense that she was missing a large piece of information necessary to understanding it—probably one she would know if she were a fairy. She closed the book and set it aside in favour of  _Non-Aggressive Battle Magic_.

* * *

 _And Yet So Far_  was a very popular and somewhat controversial romance novel by Mistress Konstanze of the Black Forest. She noted that it was based loosely upon a true story, and Mistress Joy of the Desert Lands was placed arbitrarily in a list of people Konstanze thanked for their contributions. This was for her own protection, in the case of unforeseen circumstances, and Joy had made certain that it would be absolutely impossible to trace the story back to the good fairy on whose romance the book was based. Perhaps Joy would get into a bit of trouble if her level of involvement were discerned, but that good fairy's life would be over—figuratively and, with things the way they were these days, perhaps even literally.

Joy had met Mistress Fauna of the Eastern Kingdom nearly five hundred years ago. At the time, she had been Lady Fauna of the Land in the Plains. She had been too young to be mistress of anything, and the Four Kingdoms had not quite been established yet.

Fauna had two sisters. The older sister, Flora, believed that she was Mistress of Everything She Saw. The younger, Merryweather, was rude and spoiled, and seemed to take personal offense at everything and everyone she encountered. Fauna, whose light reddish-brown hair and freckles set her apart from her dark-haired sisters, compensated for her striking appearance by being exceedingly agreeable to everyone.

Joy had first encountered the three sisters and their elderly parents on a visit to the Kingdom by the Sea. She served as a personal advisor to the Fairy Queen Titania at the time, and had been investigating Mistress Sara's complaints regarding the wicked fairy Cordelia. (That was, of course, another story entirely.) Whilst contemplating the matter, Joy had settled herself on the beach to enjoy the sunny weather; however, she had found herself woefully unable to concentrate. A family of good fairies sat not a stone's throw away from her. The parents were probably close to a thousand years old, and their children were probably not even fifty. The two dark-haired children were outright screaming at one another about something—Joy had forgotten after all this time—but the conversation went something like this:

"You're so wrong, Flora! Don't you agree, Fauna?"

"Of course I agree, Merryweather."

"Merryweather, that's complete nonsense! Isn't that nonsense, Fauna?"

"I'm sure it is, Flora."

"Flora, you are such an idiot! I'm right, aren't I, Fauna?"

"You're right, Merryweather."

Back and forth, back and forth. With a sigh, Joy stood up, strode over to the family, and planted herself between the sunlight and the elderly good fairies. She was not a person of substantial size, but she easily dwarfed this entire family. The children were undeterred from their argument, but their parents looked up and abruptly tensed. Joy smirked.

"Good afternoon," she said. "Out of curiosity, do you have any intention of controlling your offspring?"

"Please," said the woman. "We don't want any trouble."

"And nor do I," Joy replied pleasantly. "Unfortunately, I cannot hear such peaceable thoughts over the screaming of your children."

"Flora, Merryweather, be quiet!" said the woman, but her voice was weak.

"Flora, Merryweather?" Joy echoed, and mercifully, their argument ceased. The three children looked up at her, and they had the good manners to look frightened. "Your mother told you to be quiet. If my mother had told me to be quiet and I had so gleefully disobeyed, she would have cursed me into next week. Have a pleasant day."

Later, when the sun was setting, Joy took off her shoes and walked along the shore, still torn over what to tell the Queen regarding the Cordelia problem. It was true that she was not a stable person, and she had caused considerable harm in a few isolated incidents, and it was very possible that what Sara feared—that she would snap and cause a large disaster—was a legitimate concern. The complication was that she had a young daughter of limited magical—and possibly mental—ability. Joy knew how these things played out: Sara would take Cordelia out at any cost, and Cordelia's innocent daughter would be blamed for any unforeseen consequences of Sara's actions.

Somewhere in the midst of her dilemma, Joy noticed that she was not alone. A short distance ahead of her, a petite redheaded fairy was walking barefoot, ankle-deep in the water, apparently also deep in thought. Joy recognized her as the agreeable sister from the family she had accosted earlier. What was her name? Fiona? Fyora? "Fauna?"

The girl flinched and whirled around to face Joy. She bowed her head and curtseyed. "Yes, Ma'am. I am very sorry that my sisters and I disturbed you earlier."

Joy waved her hand dismissively, "Think nothing of it. What brings you here?"

"A sort of vacation," Fauna replied. "Our parents plan to stay and retire here. We'll return to the Land in the Plains and assume our responsibilities there."

"You're a bit young for that," Joy remarked.

Fauna nodded, "But there are three of us. Most of the responsibility falls on Flora, anyway. Our mother is too tired to serve as counsel to all four of the emerging kingdoms. She wants to spend the rest of her life with Father."

"Hmm," Joy replied. She had never actually seen a fairy couple who had stayed together their entire lives. "I can't imagine. That's quite an accomplishment."

Fauna nodded. "It seems impossible to me," she said sadly.

Joy chuckled. "You're also a bit young to be so cynical."

The young fairy turned upon her large, light brown eyes shimmering with tears. "Have you ever been in love?"

Joy frowned, feeling suddenly quite uncomfortable. "Have you?" she asked.

Fauna looked down at her feet and began tracing a patter in the sand with her toes. "It's impossible."

"How can you be so certain? Love is difficult, of course, but your parents managed it, didn't they?" Joy felt very strange, trying to cheer up a young good fairy with optimistic talk about a subject in which she had had miserable luck, herself.

"My family wouldn't approve. No one would."

Joy raised her eyebrows, "Why is that?" Fauna did not respond. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter," she amended. " It's my experience that someone is always going to disapprove of you even if you're exactly where you're supposed to be, keeping your mouth shut and causing no trouble. Perhaps chasing this impossible love of yours would be a difficult road, but you might find it more rewarding than spending the rest of your life telling your sisters that they're right about everything."

Fauna regarded her carefully for a moment, but then she shook her head. "I know they seem…difficult," she said. "But they're my sisters. I have a responsibility to help them. I have a responsibility to the Four Kingdoms. I have—"

"You also have a responsibility to yourself," Joy cut her off. She had no patience for good fairy drivel. "Not every fairy gets a chance to experience love. Not every person of any species gets a chance to experience true happiness. Are you going to let that slip away because your sisters told you to?"

Fauna frowned down at her clasped hands. "No," she said at last. "No, I'm not."

It was a shock to see Fauna and her sisters again after so long. Still more shocking was that, after all she knew at least one of them had gone through, they were exactly as they had been five hundred years ago. Felicity mostly spoke for all of them, much to Flora's obvious irritation. Flora, who had grown plump and whose hair had greyed, occasionally interjected unnecessary information, with which Merryweather (who had also grown plump and whose magically darkened hair was fooling no one) occasionally felt the need to argue. Fauna, who had aged far more gracefully than her sisters, remained still and silent, and kept eyeing Joy fearfully. It occurred to Joy that this woman probably had not done a very good job at having a clandestine romance, and she did her best to ignore Fauna as everyone else was doing.

She had honestly sort of forgotten about what was now the Land of Two or Three Kingdoms. The only wicked fairies who had ever bothered with it during her time as Queen 's Counsel had been nomadic males. She tried to think how long it had been—there were the three kingdoms after that war a couple of centuries back, but then the Eastern King's daughter was going to marry the Northern King's son and they were going to unite or something, but then something else happened.

She hadn't even realized that that something was Maleficent of the Dragon Country. My, my, those three little fairies were in over their heads! Joy wondered why they hadn't sought help sooner, but by the end of the meeting, she had her answer: Flora's pride. Apparently that had cost them dearly, for Maleficent was now too powerful to be imprisoned by a product of the Mountainland Fairies. She had, according to a combination of Felicity and Flora, enchanted the princess she cursed into setting her free and taken off with the girl.

Joy privately felt glad that her young friend had escaped death and was more powerful than ever, and also that she, herself, was no longer in the employ of the Fairy Queen. This way, she did not have to condemn Maleficent for her deeds, and if it became necessary, she could help her. Maleficent would need all the help she could get if the news of her power got to Mistress Sara.

Precisely two weeks after the visit from Mistress Felicity and company, Maleficent came to visit, and as it turned out, the events of her escape had been grossly exaggerated.

"So let me see if I understand you—you just _talked_  her into freeing you?"

Maleficent nodded. "She's a very kind-hearted girl. She didn't want me to die." Joy had never seen Maleficent so calm…almost resigned. It was quite unnerving.

"Even though you wanted her to die?"

"Yes."

Joy laughed in an effort to dispel her discomfort at this new, icy demeanour of Maleficent's. "And now she's learning magic. Oh, that's funny!"

"Your sense of humour eludes me."

"What is it with the Land in the Plains and fairies falling in love with humans?" Joy mused. "There must be something in the water."

"What in Hell's name are you talking about?" Joy felt genuinely relieved that her goading had been successful—there was the Maleficent she remembered: irritable and defensive.

"First little Fauna had that disastrous affair with the boy in the Kingdom by the Sea, now you're mad about the damned Eastern Princess, of all people!"

Maleficent rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm mad? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Fauna had an affair with a human?"

Joy nodded. "Of course—haven't you read Konstanze's book about the good fairy and the human?"

"I'm not much for romance novels."

"Of course you wouldn't be. But you know the story, everyone does, and I swear to you it's about Fauna."

"How can you swear to something so absurd?" asked Maleficent, clearly losing her patience.

"I'm the one who told Konstanze the story, of course," said Joy with a wave of her hand. "Now, I know you got off topic to distract me from your passionate love for the princess—"

"Enough of that!" Maleficent snapped. "She is a child!"

Joy smirked. She honestly couldn't tell whether she was right or not, but at the very least, Maleficent was acting like her usual self. "What is she, sixteen or seventeen by now? A human would very much disagree with you, Maleficent," she replied. "Anyway, I'm sure you've figured out that if Felicity convinces anyone of importance that you're more powerful than the Mountainland Fairies, you'll be hunted like a dog. I'll contact Zenovia and see if she has any ideas, but please do be on your guard. This thing with Sara is bound to come to a head soon, anyway."

Maleficent nodded curtly and made to exit. "Thank you, Joy."

"Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"She could do a lot worse than you, you know," said Joy with a teasing smile.

Maleficent shook her head. "The heat has addled your brain, Joy," she replied, and in a burst of green flame, she was gone.

* * *

"Briar Rose."

Rose jumped and dropped her book as she whirled around to face Maleficent.

"Perhaps you ought to read a book about getting caught off guard," she said. Rose knew it was meant as a joke, but something about Maleficent was decidedly sombre.

Rose blushed. "I didn't…" she swallowed and decided to change the subject. "Is your bird all right?"

"No," Maleficent replied evenly. "He's dead. He might have been dead all this time, or I might have killed him just now," she averted her eyes briefly, but nothing else about her demeanour changed. "His statue crumbled into dust."

"I'm so sorry," Rose whispered. Without thinking, she reached out and touched Maleficent's arm. Maleficent flinched away and her eyes flashed. She all but glared at the spot where Rose's hand had touched her. "I'm sorry," said Rose once more.

"It's over now," said Maleficent, but she did not take her eyes off of her arm. "Gather the books you want and we'll go. I owe you a challenge."

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh, that's not necessary, you've just—" Maleficent's eyes met hers and Rose stopped talking. Maleficent had just suffered yet another loss. There was no need to point it out.

Rose picked up the small pile of books she had assembled for herself and turned back to Maleficent, who was gazing at nothing in particular. Maleficent opened her arms to Rose and transported them back to the castle in the Dragon Country.

Once Rose had gotten over the feeling of being nowhere—and had, consequently, stopped clutching onto Maleficent for dear life, she placed the books next to the chair she had usually occupied, next to Maleficent's, before her many months of solitude.

"Are you ready?" asked Maleficent, her tone just as calm and hollow as it had been for two days.

Rose nodded silently.

Maleficent set aside her staff. "Very well. You know how to block spells, correct?"

"Yes."

"I'll begin with verbal incantations.  _Sisto_!"

Long, thin streams of purple light burst from Maleficent's fingertips. Rose crossed her arms and cried, " _Contego_!" The streams of light bounced off of an invisible shield a breath away from her crossed arms.

Before Rose had time to relax her arms, Maleficent cried " _Verto_!"

" _Contego_!" The spell knocked her back a few steps, but her shield kicked in before it could do any real damage—not that Rose knew what either of those spells was meant to achieve.

"Very good," said Maleficent. She folded her arms and examined her fingernails on one hand. "But I wouldn't relax if I were you. This is a challenge, after all." The hand she had seemed to examine innocuously suddenly made a sweeping gesture, now holding some kind of ball of energy which came barreling toward Rose. Rose brought up her arms to shield herself, but she was too late. The energy ball hit her in the stomach and knocked her off her feet.

Rose winced when her backside hit the floor, but she realized shortly thereafter that the energy ball hadn't actually hurt her. She looked up at Maleficent, who was offering her hand.

"I know," said Rose. "I relaxed."

"Well, yes, but the  _Contego_  is best as a long-term shield. For something like that, you could simply have caught it and thrown it back at me."

Rose frowned. "But then wouldn't it have hurt you?"

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. It was the most expressive her features had been all day. "It would hurt whoever failed to catch it. Would you like to try again?"

Rose nodded and Maleficent threw another energy ball at her. She wasn't an expert at catching things, but she was a great deal better than her three non-aunts. She used both of her hands to catch the ball, just to be safe. It felt strange to hold—it didn't really touch her hand, and yet she could feel it there all the same. Rose gazed at the ball of energy for a moment in wonder before she remembered her surroundings. She looked up at Maleficent, who gazed back stoically, and she realized that the only reason she felt all right about throwing a spell back at her was because she knew Maleficent would catch it.

Maleficent did not catch it so much as she struck it back in Rose's direction. Rose was caught by surprise, but she caught the ball with her right hand and threw it back. So it went back and forth several times until Maleficent hit the ball some odd way so that it spiraled, and Rose, caught off guard once more, froze and allowed the energy ball to knock her to the ground.

"You saw the spell coming and you saw that its path was unpredictable," said Maleficent as she helped Rose to her feet once more. "That might have been a good time to do what?"

Rose sighed. "Use a shield?"

Maleficent nodded.

"I'm hopeless."

"No, you're slow on your feet. You'll get better with practice. Once more."

They continued practicing with the harmless energy spell until Rose could think of an appropriate response to a handful of different techniques Maleficent used to cast the spell. Rose became increasingly frustrated that she had to be fed each of these responses by Maleficent after first being hit by the spell for lack of any reaction at all, but after several tries, her reaction time did seem to get a bit better.

As they practiced for perhaps the twentieth time, Rose noted that she felt hyper-alert. Her eyes were dry from not blinking enough and her heart rate was consistently faster and louder than normal. Maleficent was unnervingly calm, which Rose found irritating. What must it be like to be so far above her opponent's skill level that she needn't even break a sweat?

With a cry of frustration, Rose grabbed the energy ball with both hands and threw it hard at Maleficent's legs. Maleficent held out one hand and the energy ball disappeared into the air in front of her knees. She smiled. "Now you're beginning to think creatively. Are you tired?"

Rose, who was still wide-eyed and panting, holding her hands in front of her at the ready, shook her head.

"Very well. Let's continue."

Maleficent fired another glowing ball of energy at her, but this one was reddish and almost appeared to be on fire. Rose hit it back with the side of her arm, and the ball burned her skin. Rose gasped, less from the pain and more because Maleficent was raising the stakes. Maleficent caught the fireball, evidently without harm to herself, and blew upon it. Rose quickly raised the Contego shield before the flames could reach her and she kept it up for as long as she could while she waited for what Maleficent would try next.

Instead, Maleficent began walking toward her. This in itself would have been intimidating and caused Rose to back away in equal measure, for Maleficent's presence even when she was obviously in a good humour made no secret of the danger she posed. What was even more frightening, and it caused Rose's mouth to become dry and her heart to pound in her throat, was that the hollow, empty quality of her voice was now visible in her eyes. Black eyes which usually shone with depth and intelligence were flat, glazed over, emotionless. Rose shivered.

"Stay back," she croaked, but of course such a weak command accomplished nothing. Rose tried to ignore the terror in her heart as she gazed into Maleficent's eyes and she stood her ground. "Stay back!" she said again, firmly. The spell hit Maleficent, but it scarcely even knocked her back one step.

"Many people, particularly mortal men, believe that practitioners of magic can only fight at range," said Maleficent. She was still walking toward Rose, who was stumbling backward across the great hall, trying not to lose her footing on the uneven floor. "They will try to get close to you, not only because they believe they can overpower you, but because they believe they can frighten you."

Rose's heel hit a stone in the floor which stuck out slightly, and she flew back several steps to maintain her balance. Maleficent was undeterred in her steady approach. "They're correct," said Rose.

Maleficent shook her head. "They are incorrect. With magic in your veins, you are stronger than a dozen men. If you can believe in that, there's no reason to be frightened."

Rose tried to think  _Stand back!_  very hard inside of her head, to cast the spell without Maleficent's notice. Not only did the spell barely even move Maleficent one step back, Maleficent definitely noticed. She smiled mirthlessly. "You find me frightening now."

Rose nodded. She felt her eyes stinging and had to force herself to blink.

"It's about time," she said with a small flourish of her hand which made Rose flinch. "Suppose I am not magical. I am still strong, quick, and I know how to fight hand-to-hand. I think if I can get close enough to you, your magic will be useless to stop me."

Rose tried to take quicker steps backward, to put more distance between them, but to her horror, her hands hit the wall on the opposite side of the room from where they had begun.

"Suppose I have you cornered," said Maleficent with a tilt of her head. Rose began to tremble.

In one fluid motion which was almost too fast to fully comprehend, Maleficent was upon her. She held Rose's wrists above her head with one hand and pressed the other arm against her chest, just below her throat. "What are you going to do?" Maleficent whispered.

Rose could feel Maleficent's breath against her cheek. Her eyes darted nervously around her, but Maleficent was everywhere. She looked up into Maleficent's eyes and she considered for an instant the last time she had been this close to the wicked fairy. That time, Maleficent had been the one who was trapped. She had been the one whose eyes were overflowing with emotion, silently begging Rose to set her free.

"I don't know," Rose choked. She hadn't realized she was crying.

Maleficent's lip curled. "Push me away."

"What?"

"Push me away," Maleficent repeated, a breath away from Rose's face.

"What do you mean? I can't!" Rose stammered.

"Yes, you can."

"You're stronger than I am! You've p-proven that quite clearly."

"I'm not using any magic," Maleficent said. "I'm nothing more than a mortal who has trapped you."

But of course she was so much more. She was Maleficent, someone so impossibly immortal that the idea of her being just another person was absurd. She was Maleficent, for whom Rose had come to care so dearly in their short time together, in spite of Maleficent's unwillingness and even inability to understand that. She was Maleficent, whom Rose found she wanted so desperately to be close to that even this was somehow alluring to her.

"No, you're not," Rose replied through her tears. Her body now contracted with painful sobs, and she could not stop trembling.

"Push me away!" Maleficent cried, unphased.

"I can't!"

"You can't, or you won't?" she growled.

It struck Rose as quite twisted that Maleficent's question was not wholly ungrounded in truth. "Please, stop!" she sobbed.

"Do you think someone who wanted to hurt you would stop if you asked him to?"

"No, but I thought you would!" Rose shot back. She did finally succeed in pushing Maleficent's hands off of her, but it was because Maleficent let go. Rose crumpled into a heap against the wall and wiped at her eyes until she could see again. She curled herself into a ball and breathed deeply until she could convince herself that she was no longer in immediate danger. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and she could not quite grasp onto a tangible reason why she was out of harm's way, but she managed to calm her hysteria before she looked up to see that she was alone in the great hall of Maleficent's castle.

Rose lay back against the stone wall, exhausted and at a loss for what to do.

She wanted to leave, but she didn't really have anywhere to go. This had been her home for almost a year, and winter was approaching. She would not survive for long if left to her own devices. What was more, Maleficent felt that something must have very recently gone wrong in this land which had taken out most of the dragons and many of the humans. As demonstrated by what had just happened, Rose was not yet even nearly equipped to defend herself if she should run into any kind of trouble.

Suddenly it occurred to her that there was somewhere she could go, if only she knew how to get there. Kinsale would surely take her in, and what was more, she would probably have some insight on what had come over Maleficent to make her act that way. Empowered by her newfound hope, Rose stood up on shaking legs and made her way upstairs.

The door to Maleficent's room was closed. Rose supposed that solved the mystery of where she had gone. Rose's borrowed room was not exactly the way she had left it, however. One of the books on defensive magic which she had not yet read was sitting on her bed.

Rose had put this book aside because all of the spells seemed rather long and difficult, and she didn't yet feel up to the challenge. She couldn't imagine why Maleficent had left it out for her—she felt more exhausted than she ever had in her life, as though stores of energy she hadn't even known existed had been completely sapped. Still, she picked up the book and turned to the contents.

Mirror an Attack  
Deflect an Attack onto Someone Else  
Delay the Effects of Some Common Spells  
Transport Yourself Elsewhere  
Temporarily Separate your Limbs from your Body  
Catch an Attack…

"Transport Yourself Elsewhere…" Rose whispered to herself as she flipped to the appropriate page.

The incantation was only one line, and part of it was describing the place you wanted to go. The book noted that the main problem was concentration. "If you do not concentrate completely upon being in your intended location, if even a small part of you is trapped where you are, you might find that small part of yourself rather painfully left behind."

Rose ran her finger over the incantation as she tried to remember every detail of Kinsale's homestead, a large, sprawling mansion surrounded by a high wall, in turn surrounded by the greenest valley she had ever seen.

_I am not here. I am…_

Rose curled herself into a ball on her bed. She did not know why exactly—somehow she felt it would be easier to concentrate on getting her entire body somewhere else if it was as small as possible.

"I am not here," Rose began to chant. "I am in the Valley Kingdom. I am not here. I am in the Valley Kingdom. I am not here…"

And indeed she was no longer there. Rose experienced that terrifying sensation of being nowhere, and for an instant, she panicked. What if she got stuck between places?

"I am not here. I am in the Valley Kingdom," she began again, squeezing her eyes shut and trying very hard to ignore the fact that she was not sitting on anything. She hugged her knees even closer to her body. She forgot about everything else that had happened that day and concentrated entirely on her image of the valley where Kinsale lived. "I am not here. I am in the Valley Kingdom. I am not here. I am in the…"

Rose felt solid ground beneath her and crisp autumn air on her face, and she opened her eyes. She sat atop a hill, looking down into a valley where a sprawling mansion sat amid colourful flowers and falling leaves. She smiled and collapsed upon the ground, shivering with how good it felt to be  _somewhere_ —she had done it.

* * *

Ever since that most unpleasant visit from the good fairies of the Eastern Kingdom, Kinsale had played host to a never-ending stream of unfriendly visitors tossing about lofty threats, and today was no exception. Mistress Zalia of the Desert Lands had never been a warm and fuzzy sort of person, nor had anyone in her family, but something had changed in her since last they had spoken. There was something in her eyes which bothered Kinsale—some emptiness, some loss which had caused her to seem, instead of calm and stoic, frantic and somewhat deranged.

"You don't seem to grasp the seriousness of what I'm trying to tell you," said Zalia at present.

"You're trying to tell me that Mistress Sara intends to hunt down and destroy my kin, am I correct?"

The good fairy nodded.

"That isn't news to me, Zalia," said Kinsale, suddenly feeling very tired.

Zalia frowned, and the wild look in her eyes grew more pronounced. "You don't understand—I found a wicked fairy masquerading as a human in the Desert Lands. I told my sister about it, she reported it to Sara, and Sara sent her to capture the fairy immediately. She'd been hiding for almost a century."

"Who was she?" Kinsale asked, her brow furrowed.

Zalia shrugged. "Confidential. Doesn't matter now."

"I suppose not. Still, I'd say Sara will need more resources before she takes on an entire species."

Zalia sighed and stood. "Very well. Don't say I never warned you."

As if to emphasize Zalia's point, Kinsale's alarm sounded. Kinsale waved it off and pressed her fingers to her throat. "WHO GOES THERE?"

"M…Mistress Kinsale?" a most familiar voice called. Kinsale frowned. "It's Br…it's Aurora."

"Aurora?" murmured Zalia, and then her eyes snapped up to meet Kinsale's. "I might have known."

Kinsale stood and held out her hand for her staff, which she held across her body. "She's obviously alone." But why? Something must have happened. Was Maleficent all right? Was Aurora all right?

"You have such faith in your  _friend_ ," Zalia sneered, drawing her wand. "Are you so stupid that you'd let Maleficent kill you before Sara even tries?"

"You know nothing of what you're saying," Kinsale replied coolly. "This matter is none of your business. Now, I'm going to let the girl in, and you are going to show yourself out. Is that clear?"

"Very well," Zalia replied. She began walking backwards to the front door, wand still drawn. Kinsale raised one hand to open the wall for Aurora, but she kept her staff at the ready.

Aurora pulled open one of Kinsale's front doors and hesitantly stepped inside. Zalia spun around, wrapped one arm around Aurora's waist, and pointed her wand at Aurora's throat.


	10. The Instinct

Aurora stood like a statue. She gasped, but she did not scream.

Kinsale flew across the room. She stopped a short distance from Zalia and Aurora and brandished her staff. "Hello, Aurora," she said evenly. "I'd introduce you, but Mistress Zalia was just leaving."

Zalia smiled and Kinsale's heart began to pound. "You know, I could just return the girl to Felicity's friends for you. Might save you more trouble than you know."

"If you do, you'll bring my wrath and Maleficent's down on your head," Kinsale replied. "Besides, I suspect they want her in one piece."

"You wanna tell me where your fairy friend is keeping herself?" Zalia snarled into Aurora's ear. Aurora squeezed her eyes shut. "She using you as bait? Come on, you can tell me! I'm on your side!" Aurora shook her head.

Zalia had completely lost focus—she continued to whisper threats and questions into Aurora's ear, eyes half-shut. Kinsale silently disarmed her and physically threw her off of Aurora, who immediately clung to Kinsale.

"You're mad, Kinsale," said Zalia once she had regained her footing. "I'll see to it that you pay for helping that fiend."

"Begone!" Kinsale cried, and with a wave of her staff, Zalia went flying through the front door, which slammed behind her.

Kinsale looked down at Aurora, whose trembling arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. She shifted awkwardly and threw down her staff so that she could return the embrace. "It's all right, dear," she whispered. "She's gone now."

Aurora did not move, and her trembling did not cease. Kinsale gently stroked Aurora's hair and tried again. "I am terribly sorry about that. One must be very cautious around good fairies these days."

Aurora showed no sign of even having heard her. Kinsale tilted her head and placed a hand gently under Aurora's chin. "Aurora, what's happened?" she asked. Aurora finally looked up at Kinsale, her violet blue eyes still shining with fear. Kinsale gently wiped away her tears and smoothed her hair. "There, there," she said. "You're safe."

The fear in Aurora's eyes did not lessen, but she took several deep breaths and prepared to speak. "I'm sorry," said Aurora quietly. "I've had a rather frightening day."

"Come, come, have a seat!" said Kinsale, incredibly relieved. "I'll make you some tea." She escorted Aurora to the nearest tea table and conjured up her best cup of chamomile. Aurora thanked her quietly and took a few long sips. Kinsale watched her carefully. She wanted to ask again what had happened, but she hoped that Aurora might be more inclined to talk when she had calmed down.

And indeed, Aurora set her cup down and thought for a moment before she spoke. "Maleficent's bird died," she said.

"Oh," said Kinsale. "Well, that's…" Not exactly what she had been expecting. "That's too bad."

Aurora looked up at her. "I know it doesn't make sense, but it seems important in my mind," she explained. "She's lost so many people, and then she lost her bird this morning, and she seemed somehow…empty." Aurora frowned. "And then she was helping me practice magic and suddenly she wasn't helping anymore. She was frightening, and there was that emptiness in her eyes, and she had me cornered…" Rose bit her lip and thought for a moment. "She trapped me," she said, surprised. She rubbed her right wrist with her left hand, "She held me up against a wall. And then she was gone." She shook her head. "But I couldn't stay there any longer."

When Aurora fell silent, Kinsale considered what she had said. Maleficent had lost her pet raven, Diablo, yet another loss to add to the long list which had accumulated in her short lifetime, and it had somehow been more than she could bear. And then she had lashed out at Aurora. Physically. That was odd.

The curious thing about Maleficent was that you'd expect her to be the type to lash out when she was feeling vulnerable, but she seldom did. Kinsale imagined Maleficent could be very physically intimidating, especially to a small girl like Aurora. Still more bizarre, she was a very skilled fighter, with various human weapons and with her bare hands—Kinsale had personally seen her in action. However, Maleficent had cultivated these things so that physical aggression could be her last resort. She was never physical unless someone else was physical first—this applied to her friends as well as her enemies. Maleficent had grown up in a situation where a friendly tap on the shoulder was unheard of. A century ago in the Dragon Country, one had to be prepared for a fight to the death every time one went outside. Additionally, Maleficent's mother had been physically violent, which was perhaps the biggest reason that Maleficent was not.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to use magic," said Aurora, her voice still unnervingly neutral. "Not when it counts. I couldn't do as Maleficent asked and I couldn't save myself just now."

"Nonsense—you've only been training for a few months," Kinsale murmured, still somewhat distracted by her thoughts.  _Do as Maleficent asked_ …this situation was perplexing.

"Why would she…? I mean, she's done a lot of unpleasant things, but she's never threatened me like that before."

Kinsale took a sip of her tea before she answered. "I wish I knew."

"Am I mad, thinking that this is unusual?" Aurora asked no one in particular. Her shoulders sagged. "There was a time not so long ago when she wanted me to die. Perhaps it was stupid of me to think that had changed."

"You're not mad, Aurora," Kinsale replied. "If you want my opinion, I don't think she had it in her to kill you even before you saved her life. She certainly wouldn't now. I imagine she's frightened, with this rumour going around that she's stronger than the Chains of Avasina, but it still makes no sense that she'd take it out on you."

While Kinsale continued to consider various scenarios which could have led to bizarre behavior on the part of her friend, Aurora spoke once more, "Who is Zalia?"

"A good fairy from the northern part of the Desert Lands," said Kinsale, glad to have a simple answer to something. "Her older sister is very high in Mistress Sara's ranks."

"Did she come to tell you something, or are you friends?" asked Aurora, something of an edge in her voice.

Kinsale sighed. "You know, even a decade ago I would have said we were friends. No, she came to tell me that Sara is plotting against my species, which of course I already knew."

Aurora bit her lip and thought for a moment. "Soon?" she asked quietly.

Kinsale took a minute to study Aurora. She looked as though she hadn't had a decent night of sleep in ages, and there was a certain sadness in her eyes. Kinsale had seen a trace of it before, but at the time, it had been overshadowed by Aurora's curiosity and thirst for adventure. Much had befallen Aurora, but at that time, the princess had just taken action against her fate. Kinsale wondered whether Aurora knew what would befall her if she continued to keep company with wicked fairies.

"That depends upon your definition of soon," Kinsale said carefully. "Then again, perhaps it's already begun."

"Maleficent made it sound like there was…" she swallowed and averted her eyes, "more time. Time for me to become a sorceress, even."

"Ah," Kinsale frowned. What in Hell's name was Maleficent playing at? "Well, there's certainly that." She could think of nothing else to say, and so they sat in silence for several minutes.

"I meant to ask you…" Aurora said at last. "What were you going to suggest I say to her? Do you remember?"

"Oh, that…" Kinsale was really rather glad she hadn't imparted that bit of wisdom. "It's not important."

"Please, tell me? I just…" she began to fidget with her dress "I want to know if it's something I could have avoided."

"Oh, no," Kinsale said quickly. "This wasn't your fault, Aurora. You must know that."

"No, I…I know that….but I'd still like to know."

"I really…" Kinsale wanted to deny her, but she realized there would be little point in it. She imagined the princess had spent a great deal of time being denied information for her own protection. "Well, it's as you said: Maleficent has lost a great deal of people in her lifetime. She's always been a bit…prickly, shall we say?...when anyone tried to reach out to her. I suspect she tried so hard to keep you at arm's length because she knew sooner or later you wouldn't need her anymore. Do you follow me?"

"Not really," said Aurora.

Kinsale thought for a moment, then tried again, "If she could convince herself that you were only using her for protection and knowledge, she wouldn't feel the loss so keenly when you inevitably left."

"But I wouldn't have left if she hadn't been so deliberately frightening!" Aurora shook her head. "And I still don't understand—what was your advice going to be?"

"You're getting a bit ahead of me," Kinsale said with a smile. "What I just told you was the information on which I based my intended advice half a year ago. I was going to say that you should tell her something to the effect of…while you were grateful for her protection, you also thought of her as a friend, and that you did not intend to break contact with her once your circumstances changed."

"Tell her that I wasn't going to leave her. But then I did," Aurora echoed, looking quite stricken.

"No, no, you were right to leave!" Kinsale clarified, reaching out to touch Aurora's arm. "Maleficent had no right to make you feel unsafe."

Aurora regarded her outstretched hand with surprise. "I did tell her the first bit, actually," she said, directing her speech at Kinsale's hand on her arm. "Yesterday. And she seemed to believe me. Glad I didn't guess at the other half of your suggestion."

"Aurora, you mustn't blame yourself."

"I suppose this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened. Perhaps that's why she found it so hard to believe that I could possibly enjoy her company."

"Aurora! Listen to me!"

Aurora looked up, wide-eyed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it isn't my fault. Still, I can't help but feel that she behaved oddly. There's quite a difference between her usual prickly behavior and what happened today. Don't you think so?"

Kinsale nodded, "I do. It's very unlike her. But it's not your responsibility to figure it out if it puts you in any kind of danger, do you understand me?"

Aurora nodded silently.

"Now, how about you tell me what brought you here calmly and without spiraling into self-loathing, hmm?" Kinsale raised one eyebrow pointedly and Aurora rewarded her with a small, embarrassed smile.

"This morning…it seems so long ago, but it was this morning…we went to the Forbidden Mountains. She went to try to revive her bird and I sat in her library and waited. She came in, told me her bird was dead, and then we went home because she had promised me she would test me on my magic. I told her she didn't need to if she was mourning her bird, but it….I don't know, it seemed like maybe she didn't want to dwell on it."

Kinsale nodded. Denial sounded about right.

Aurora thought for a moment, "She had been throwing spells for me to block for…I don't know, a long time. Then suddenly she stopped and started walking toward me, saying something about people thinking that magic would be powerless if they got close enough to me."

Also classic Maleficent.

"Then suddenly she had me cornered," Aurora continued, becoming distressed as she recounted the tale. Kinsale took her hand. "And then she caught my wrists in one hand and held me against the wall with the other. And she told me to push her away." Aurora looked up, "Push Maleficent away! There's no way I could have! But she kept telling me to push her away, I kept saying I couldn't, I begged her to stop, and then she was suddenly just…gone." Aurora frowned and shook her head, "Does that make any sense to you?"

Kinsale squeezed Aurora's hand as she thought. "I'd like to reassure you that she wasn't actually lying to you," she said. "If someone without magic ever does try to restrain you, you can easily overpower even the strongest of men with your magic."

"Oh," said Aurora simply. She bit her lip.

"But there's no way you could have learned how to do that under such strenuous circumstances," Kinsale quickly amended. "I only tell you that so you won't fear you've misjudged Maleficent. And of course because it's a useful skill to have. What was I saying? Misjudged Maleficent. Oh yes, I…I am trying very hard to be objective here, Aurora, but Maleficent has been my friend for nearly a century. I want very badly to believe that there was some reason for what she did to you, but I don't want to sound like I'm excusing her behavior. Do you understand?"

Aurora nodded and gave her a rueful smile, "I want to believe it as much as you do."

Kinsale patted Aurora's cheek and smiled. "So tell me, how is it you got here?"

Aurora pursed her lips, "When I realized Maleficent had left, I went upstairs to my room and there was a book in the middle of my bed that had the spell for Transporting Yourself Elsewhere. I…well, I didn't know of anywhere else I could go."

"Oh, Aurora, I hope you know you're always welcome here!" Kinsale assured her. "I am relieved to hear that the spell worked for you, though. The first time I tried that one, I left one of my arms on the other side of the room."

Aurora cringed.

"Sorry. Too much information," Kinsale felt herself beginning to ramble as her thoughts ran wild. "Anyway, that's a bit of a relief, really. It sounds like Maleficent just wanted to scare you away for some reason. Her methods are rather helter-skelter, just hoping you'd figure out her whimsical little riddle and end up somewhere safe and in one piece, but it's a bit less damning than actually intending to harm you."

"So she doesn't just hate me?" Aurora asked meekly.

Kinsale looked at her, surprised. She hadn't actually been paying too much attention to the words coming out of her mouth, and she hoped that she wasn't making light of what was most certainly a grievous error on the part of her friend. Still, she knew she could answer at least this question with absolute certainty. "Of course not!" she replied, choosing her next words far more carefully. "She's a troubled person, Aurora. She just…doesn't express her affection in ways that are easy to understand. Or, you know…acceptable."

Aurora looked down at her hand in Kinsale's and smiled. "You're very good at being comforting," she said. "I hope you won't think me rude, but I have no way of knowing how old you are. Do you have children? I can't help but think what a good mother you would make."

Kinsale took a long sip of her tea before she replied. "Thank you, Aurora," she said. "No, I don't have any children. For future reference, most fairies don't mind being asked about their age, particularly because I'm given to understand that it's next to impossible for a human to make even a rough estimate. Though I've never had the opportunity to ask a human before—how old would you say I am, just looking at me?" Kinsale knew she had been babbling again, but Aurora seemed too tired to have noticed.

She shrugged, "Twenty-something?" Kinsale laughed and Aurora blushed.

"What a compliment!" said Kinsale. "How old do you think Maleficent is?"

"When I first saw her, I thought she was around thirty."

Kinsale chuckled, "You thought I was younger than Maleficent?"

Aurora fidgeted with her dress. "Well, it all became very confusing when I learned of all of the things you had both done in your lives. And Maleficent told me that you were already very famous by the time she met you."

Kinsale raised an eyebrow, "She told you how we met?"

"Vaguely," Aurora replied. "She was…in hiding or something? And you invited her to a party?"

"My," said Kinsale, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions. "You know, it's impressive," she said, in an attempt to be light-hearted, "Maleficent managed to tell you how we met and still divulge absolutely nothing about herself."

Aurora gave a small, half-hearted chuckle. "She's quite good at that. Why—is there something important that she left out?"

Kinsale smiled warmly. Aurora had had enough surprises for one day. "I'll tell you another time," she said. "You could use a good night's sleep. You're of course welcome to stay here for as long as you like," she offered hopefully. Kinsale had lived alone for almost a century now, and with the climate what it was between fairies, she didn't think it wise to throw large parties anymore. "As you've witnessed, I've been plagued by some rather ungracious guests of late, but I assure you I'm more than equipped to keep you out of harm's way."

"Oh, thank you, Kinsale! You're certain I won't be too much of a burden?"

Kinsale grinned. "A burden? Nonsense! I'd be thrilled to have the company, really." She stood and cleared away the tea. "You can stay in the guest room. I'd prefer you lock it with your handprint if you don't mind, just in case. Do you know how?" Aurora shook her head. "I'll show you—we'll stop by the library and add your handprint to that door. All the extra security is a bit irritating, but one can't be too careful these days. And I'll of course be happy to help you with your magic if you feel up to it again soon."

Kinsale led Aurora upstairs, showed her the new lock on the library—well, not new so much as never-been-used-so-frequently—and then showed her how to lock the guest room in the same way. "Come and find me when you wake if you'd like," said Kinsale as she conjured up and arranged some hygiene necessities for her human guest. "You're of course welcome anywhere in my home, and the gardens outside are quite safe. I only hope the stone wall doesn't make you feel caged in."

Aurora laughed—it was a tired, hoarse sound, but genuine and relaxed. "It would take more than stone walls to make me feel caged in," she said.

Kinsale could not bring herself to return Aurora's smile. "Well," she began with no idea how she would finish the thought, reaching out and squeezing Aurora's shoulder. "If you need anything, I'll be up a bit longer. My room is at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, Kinsale," said Aurora. "I can't thank you enough."

Kinsale smiled and waved her hand, "Nonsense. You're the one doing me a favour. You'll realize that in a few days when I've talked your ear off." She winked and made to leave.

"Kinsale?"

"Yes, dear?"

"How old are you?"

"Three hundred and ninety-four." She waited for a response, but the only one she received was stunned silence. "Sweet dreams, Aurora."

"Good night," Aurora murmured.

Kinsale closed the door to the guest room behind her and went upstairs. She had always loved the large room that served as the third floor of her house, because it had a very large window from which she could see out but no one could see in. She did most of her writing up here, though she hadn't done any lately. She was too ill at ease.

Perhaps with another person around she would feel better. Kinsale did not do well alone, and Aurora might do well with a lot of attention.

The sky was that lovely shade of deep blue which occurred just after the sun had set. The moon was waxing—it would be full within a week or two. "Hestia," Kinsale whispered into the night.

The peach-coloured dove called Hestia cooed her reply before appearing promptly at the window. Kinsale conjured up some seeds for her and then went to her writing desk. She took up a bit of parchment and wrote a simple message.

She's here.

I hope you have a very good explanation for what you've done.

I'm very sorry to hear about Diablo.

With love,  
Kinsale

* * *

"Ladies?" called Felicity's youngest sister, early in the morning as was her custom. "You've received word from the Eastern King!"

Fauna emerged half-awake from her bedroom to find the suite deserted. Hesitantly, she answered the door and took the letter. "Thank you, Charity," she said. "How are you today?"

Charity, who looked much like Felicity, only smaller and with brown eyes, smiled insincerely. "Very well, thank you. There are carrier pigeons upstairs awaiting your reply. Good day to you."

Fauna was fairly certain that Charity did not remember her name. "Good day."

She closed the door and gazed at the letter marked with King Stefan's seal. She knew she ought to wait for her sisters to get back from wherever it was they had gone, and she knew Flora would be quite upset with her if she opened it first, but she didn't see the harm. She was certain she knew what the letter was about—she was surprised it hadn't come sooner—and she hoped Flora felt the same way.

Mistresses Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather,

I have not received word from you regarding the search for the Princess Aurora, and for the Evil One responsible for her disappearance. I trust that you are all focused upon the goal of bringing my daughter home and bringing the Evil One to justice; however, I am writing to request an update regarding your travels so far, your current location, your future plans, and any relevant information you might have obtained since last we spoke.

In addition, I require the services of a Counsel to aid in our plans to unite with the Kingdom of the North. I trust that you are all equally qualified to do so and therefore request the services of the one of you who is least vital to the goal of finding and returning Princess Aurora to the Kingdom of the East, and to finding and destroying the Evil One responsible for her disappearance. However, if you believe it is necessary that all three of you should continue the search, I will not object.

I await your prompt response.

Kind regards,

King Stefan of the East

Fauna's five hundred and forty-two years of life had been, for the most part, an endless expanse of grey drudgery. She had spent most of her youth apologizing, feeling guilty for her existence and the trouble it seemed to cause people. She had spent most of her adulthood agreeing with her sisters to avoid conflict, to avoid change, to avoid anything at all. In the very heart of her dull, dismal, grey canvas of existence had been a splash of blinding colour, painfully beautiful in its garishness. Fauna had found that to live fully was to know anguish, and she had decided to resign herself to what was ostensibly her fate: to keep more than simple peace. Fauna's role in this world for nearly five hundred years now had been to maintain absolute stasis.

Had this whole mess never have happened, she would have fulfilled her role admirably. Maleficent would have been no more, Rose would have married Prince Philip, and the United Kingdoms of North and East would have declared a Golden Age of Prosperity—the end of that menace known as the Evil One, Mistress Maleficent. In all probability, that Golden Age would have lasted for the rest of Fauna's life. Fauna and her sisters might never have known that there was a war brewing just outside the borders of their land.

As it stood, however, they knew. And Flora and Merryweather seemed utterly captivated by Mistress Sara's notion of a world without wicked fairies, and wholly in favour of whatever gruesome means were required to secure such a paradise.

Fauna, on the other hand, felt a peculiar sensation which was the combination of a sinking in her stomach and a growing certainty in her heart: she had to do something.

What exactly it was that she, a fairy with limited power and absolutely no clout with anyone, was going to do about anything was a detail which still eluded her. But Fauna had lived for half a millennium standing idly by and doing nothing. She somehow knew that if she felt she must act, she must act in whatever fashion she could think of.

Flora and Merryweather, who had been engaged in a meeting with Felicity for which they hadn't bothered to awaken Fauna (for she had been awfully finicky about the whole matter for whatever reason), returned about two hours after sunrise to quite a surprise. Fauna was nowhere to be found. In her place, she left the letter from King Stefan and a note of her own.

Flora, Merryweather,

I've gone to serve as Counsel to King Stefan. I thought it would be obvious that I'm the least useful in our current endeavors, and I didn't want to waste any time in departing. I already responded with details of our search and an estimation of my arrival date, so there's no need to worry about that. Please keep me posted on your endeavours and do be sure to keep the King posted on news of the princess.

Love,  
Fauna

* * *

Mistress Zenovia was not much of a "fairies" fairy. She was a scholar, a writer, a devoted practitioner of her craft. Not only did she have little time for idle prattle with young fairies digging for compliments or advice, she had precious little patience for it. She most certainly did not have time for all of this mail.

Zenovia received mail once weekly, at sunrise on Monday morning. She had long since enchanted a flock of owls to intercept any mail she might receive at any less agreeable time, to be delivered to her at her convenience. Unfortunately, the owls were not very good at guessing what was worth delivering and what was utter nonsense.

This week, in addition to two books she had ordered and a brief note from her niece, she had received all of three seemingly extraneous correspondences. One was from Mistress Kinsale of the Valley, who was prone to nonsense. Another was from Mistress Sara of the Sea, who was not. The third was from Mistress Joy of the Desert, who harboured an inexplicable fondness for humour, but who generally kept her correspondences mercifully to the point.

Zenovia considered tossing Kinsale's letter without reading it, or at the very least reading it first to get it over with, but she imagined Kinsale was well aware of Zenovia's feelings toward her and would not contact her simply to catch up.

She opted instead for Sara's letter. Words did not quite do justice to Zenovia's feelings toward Sara. A few centuries ago, Sara had been a mere annoyance, a precocious young thing who saw fit to put an end by any means necessary to a wicked fairy thousands of years her senior out of some deluded sense of heroism. Now, however, she was the bane of every wicked fairy's existence. She had somehow come upon the idea that the world would be a perfect place without any wicked fairies at all and had spent the past century or so gathering zealous followers to attempt to wipe an entire species out of existence because she felt that the universe would be more pleasing to her that way.

Zenovia despised Sara and everyone and everything associated with her. Unfortunately, she was too powerful to be ignored, and with this in mind, Zenovia tore open her letter first.

Mistress Zenovia,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It has come to my attention that a fellow Wicked Fairy and a former acquaintance of yours has become quite the menace to society, hers and that of the world at large. Mistress Maleficent of the Eastern Kingdom recently used magic while imprisoned by the Chains of Avasina in order to free herself, and she took the young princess with her as a hostage.

The situation is urgent. The Good Fairies of the East are not well-connected and they were unaware of the ramifications of Maleficent's advanced magical power. I request in the interest of the Eastern Royals that you locate your pupil and rescue the princess if she is still alive. I would hate for an innocent girl to be caught in the crossfire of Maleficent's punishment.

Regards,  
Sara

Zenovia chuckled mirthlessly to herself. That letter translated roughly to "do as I say or I'll have you killed in the most agonizing way possible, as opposed to the painless death you'll experience if you comply." She ripped the letter neatly in two and set the two halves on fire.

Kinsale's note was riddled with senseless pleasantries, but the gist of it was in the fourth paragraph.

"I am writing you because I feel that this conflict with Mistress Sara is coming to a head, and I believe that it may be related to Maleficent of the Dragon Country. Maleficent recently ran into some trouble in the Eastern Kingdom. She was Chained, but the kind-hearted princess agreed to set her free in exchange for her own freedom. It seems there has been a misunderstanding regarding how Maleficent's freedom was obtained, and Maleficent now finds herself at a bit of a loss for what to do. I hoped that I might appeal to you as her former teacher and friend and ask if you have any ideas on how to rectify this situation. Your help would be…" on and on and on. Zenovia was glad Kinsale had never written any magic books—she wouldn't have been able to stomach them.

Two notes from two very different people, and they both had one thing in common: Maleficent.

Now, Zenovia was rather fond of Maleficent. Maleficent had, at a very young age, proven her worth as a sorceress, and Zenovia had agreed to train her for a time. Zenovia found her to be talented, intelligent, and a no-nonsense sort of person. Maleficent's friendship with a person like Kinsale struck her as bizarre, but then again, Maleficent had been extremely young and ostensibly friendless the last time they interacted. Joy's note was brief, as expected.

Zenovia,

You've probably heard by now that Maleficent is in a bit of a pickle. I have a theory I'd like to tell you about in person. I know you're busy, but this is very important. Can we meet soon?

Joy

Three letters! Three! All about Maleficent!

Well, Zenovia was most certainly going to find Maleficent, but Sara was madder than a hatter if she thought Zenovia would play along with her precious little world domination scheme. Zenovia was older and smarter than anyone in Sara's employ. If Sara thought she could just turn her nose up at an entire race of wicked fairies and say that the world would be better off without them, she deserved what was coming to her. Zenovia took up a bit of parchment and settled in to write exponentially more letters than she had in ages.


	11. The Mail

_Joy,_

_How is next Monday? I'm bringing Kinsale. I can't deal with her alone._

_Zenovia_

Joy chuckled. She thought she might rather enjoy the combination of Kinsale attempting to make pleasant conversation while Zenovia looked at her as though she wanted to rip out her larynx.

She folded the letter into a fun little shape, tossed it into the air, and shot a spell at it which shredded it. She then dissolved the pieces into streams of water. Her response was a simple "Fine" and she did not sign it. Dealing with Zenovia almost guaranteed that one's mail would be tracked.

Around the time she finished reading and destroying the last piece of her daily mail, she heard a knock upon her door, and she felt a small rush of fear. She'd been receiving an awful lot of unexpected visitors lately, all of them relatively harmless. Each time, she wondered when her caller would come bearing chains.

Joy was really not expecting to see Fauna again. Not that it was necessarily an unwelcome surprise, but she wasn't certain how to proceed. As such, she went to the door and answered it.

"Hello, Fauna," she said simply. It always struck Joy how small the Eastern Fairies were—Joy was not a particularly tall or imposing fairy, herself, but she positively dwarfed Fauna and her sisters.

Fauna's eyes widened in shock. "You remember me?"

"Even if I hadn't," said Joy with a smirk, "you giving me the eye all through your last visit would have given me pause. Won't you come in, O Mistress of Secrecy?"

"Thank you," said Fauna carefully as she followed Joy inside.

Joy offered her a seat and a cup of tea. "So!" she said. "What brings you here? It is rather dangerous, after all."

Fauna gazed nervously at her tea. "I think there's going to be a war."

Joy chuckled. "Do you really?"

Fauna looked up, eyes wide once more, not unlike a doe. "Yes, I do! Actually, I sort of assumed you would know…I mean, with Felicity coming here and making those threats, and—"

"Fauna, I am well aware that there is going to be a war," Joy interjected flatly. "If that's all you came to say, you're about fifty years too late."

"Oh," Fauna replied. "All right, then." She thought for a moment, and once again directed her speech to her untouched cup of tea. "Mistress Joy, you owe me nothing, and I owe you quite a lot… And really, I don't even know what I'm asking. It's that…" Fauna looked up again, eyes shimmering with tears. In so many ways, she was still that young girl on the beach. "There's going to be a war and I fear I'm on the wrong side."

Joy raised an eyebrow. "I see. And what do you intend to do about that?"

"I…I have no idea," said Fauna, her shoulders sagging. "I wondered if you might know…if there were anything I could do…to help?"

Joy took a leisurely sip of her own tea before she responded. "Suppose you're a spy?"

"I hadn't considered…" Fauna murmured, averting her eyes. "But of course you have no reason to believe me."

"For example, how did you get away without your sisters' knowledge?" Fauna was not a spy. Joy had never been more certain of anything in her life, simply because Fauna would make a terrible spy. Still, it was curious that Fauna had made it out from under the collective thumb of Flora and Merryweather.

"King Stefan sent a summons…it's…" Fauna bit her lip for a second before she continued to speak. "We went to visit Felicity in search of Maleficent and Princess Aurora. Flora thought that we could assemble a small force of allies to take Maleficent down for good and rescue the princess. Once we learned how serious it was that Maleficent had escaped the Chains of Avasina, our plans sort of…changed," she sighed. She took her first sip of tea before she continued.

"The King wanted an update on our intended mission—and of course I can't blame him! Not a moment goes by when I don't worry about her—where she is, if she's still alive, still with Maleficent, what Maleficent could possibly want…and they seem to have forgotten…well, nevermind that. The King also wanted one of us to serve as Counsel. Apparently he's going ahead with the merger with the Northern Kingdom, princess or no... I awoke a few days ago to find that my sisters had left me alone…I assume to have some sort of meeting they didn't want me to be a part of…and so I answered the summons and…I left."

"You didn't realize that Maleficent escaping her Chains was serious?" Joy asked, incredulous.

"Well, I…" Fauna looked up. "To be honest, I…I sort of wanted to ask you about that. I think…I wonder if perhaps the Chains worked. Maleficent is awfully clever, and Rose…I mean, the Princess…she's very kind-hearted. She could never bear the thought of anyone getting hurt, even someone who meant her harm. Do you…do you think it's possible that we've blown this out of proportion?"

Because, according to Joy's information, that was precisely what had happened, she was faced with a decision: should she tell Fauna the truth or perpetuate the lie?

It was possible that what she said made little difference. The lie had most likely already reached Sara by now—there was no stopping it, and if Fauna were by some off-chance actually a spy, revealing Maleficent's relative weakness would do her no favours. If Fauna was telling the truth, however, that meant that she had been holding onto this conviction for almost a year, despite what Joy could only imagine would be vehement protestation from everyone around her. If Fauna was telling the truth and Joy responded with a lie, it would only serve to isolate the emotionally fragile good fairy, and it might end up driving her back to the other side. A good fairy on their side, no matter how relatively powerless, could prove invaluable in the near future.

Joy took a deep breath. "Well, as they say, my dear," she said as she cast a binding spell upon Fauna's wings, then her feet, and then finally her wrists, "I would tell you the answer, but then I'd have to kill you."

Fauna gazed back at Joy with unsurprised resignation. Joy almost pitied her, really, and she rather disliked the sensation.

"As far as I'm aware, Maleficent convinced the princess to set her free with no access to her magical powers. She is highly intelligent and a very talented sorceress—perhaps near equal in power to Zenovia of the Mountainlands, but it's highly unlikely she could best all of the Mountainland Good Fairies in combat at once."

Joy led Fauna to another room—a study which she seldom used—and fortified her binding spells.

"Nothing personal, Fauna—one simply can't be too careful these days," said Joy. "A good fairy caught a wicked fairy up in the Northern Desert who had been masquerading as a human and had her dragged off to who-knows-where within the week." Were she being completely honest, she would have admitted that she thought a similar fate awaited her when Fauna knocked at her door.

"Oh, and the princess is just fine, to the best of my knowledge. She may run into some trouble soon enough, but if memory serves, she saved Maleficent's life. That's a debt Maleficent is likely to honour for as long as she's able."

Fauna nodded silently.

Messing with Fauna, Joy had already determined, was absolutely no fun. It was a bit like kicking a puppy, and so she did not dissemble any further. "As soon as I can get a hold of some Truth Serum and verify your story, I'll let you go—sound fair?"

Fauna brightened, "Truth Serum?"

"Fairy up in the Northern Desert brews it."

She smiled, "Oh, good. I thought there would be no way to prove myself…"

Joy returned her smile semi-genuinely and then left her to write to Makeda in the Northen Desert. Boring and slightly unsettling though this encounter had been, she was glad to hear that Fauna was probably telling the truth and that Joy might treat her as an ally. Still, she would be stupid to take a risk now. Something perhaps slightly more pressing than mere paranoia told Joy that the next time someone came knocking at her door, it wouldn't be to offer help.

* * *

_Kinsale,_

_Meet me at Joy's next Monday. If you can, tell Maleficent that Sara knows. Don't do it by mail—might be tracked._

_Zenovia_

Kinsale loved mail. She very much hated that she had to destroy the correspondences she had been receiving lately. She knew so many delightfully interesting people and she lamented the loss of valuable letters to and from them which might later contribute to her writings about them, particularly if she should survive the coming war. As such, she was very careful to commit every word to memory before she destroyed a letter. If she had time, once the letter was gone, she traced the words in the air that she might remember them better.

Unfortunately, she had no time at the moment. In addition to her letter from Zenovia, she had received one from Maleficent. Maleficent was in the mood to talk, and that sort of mood did not strike her very often. Kinsale wanted to use this window of opportunity to get to the bottom of whatever it was that Maleficent was doing, or, if she was not doing anything, what in Hell's name was the matter with her.

Kinsale checked to see that Aurora was sleeping soundly, then she transported herself to the castle in the Dragon Country. The door wasn't even locked.

Maleficent sat in one of the armchairs in her mother's ballroom, posture perfect, expression neutral, but still managing to look a complete mess. She wasn't wearing her horned headdress, and her black hair fell frizzy and tangled over her shoulders and down into her lap. Her complexion was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. In a way, she looked like she had when she was young—lost and frightened. This was the way Maleficent had looked when Kinsale first met her.

"She's going to get hurt," Maleficent said to the opposing wall. "It's not going to be my fault."

"I know," Kinsale replied even though she hadn't known. She had only hoped, for the girl's sake. "How are you holding up?"

"Hmm," Maleficent murmured as she considered Kinsale's question. Kinsale took the liberty of sitting in the chair opposite hers. Maleficent did not seem to notice. "You know, when I was Chained, I entertained the possibility that I might die."

Kinsale's heart sank and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"If nothing else," Maleficent continued, "my wounds would have killed me. But that was only for a day, at most. As soon as the princess showed up, I knew I could make her save me."

Kinsale saw what Aurora meant: Maleficent's eyes, normally alert, shining, and hyper-vigilant, were dull and empty. Maleficent had scarcely moved since Kinsale's arrival. She merely stared right past Kinsale and spoke monotonously, barely above a whisper.

"But now I've known it for…I don't know, weeks? It seems it's been forever. Joy told me about the misunderstanding with the Chains and I thought, 'I am going to die.' I can't see any alternative. I've decided I shan't foolishly try to defend myself against whatever it is Sara sends when she learns of my great escape. It's possible that I could defeat the Mountainland Fairies with some luck, but then she'd send the Force after me. What would be the point? There's no sense in dooming my entire race. I think perhaps it will be better if I go down easily. Sara will be proven very publicly wrong, and perhaps the Queen will find out about it. Perhaps Sara will meet her downfall."

Kinsale, who could bear no more of walking on eggshells, took a seat beside Maleficent, wrapped her arms around her, and lay her head on that rigid, bony shoulder. Maleficent flinched, but she did not pull away.

"In that case, I shall be glad to die," said Maleficent. From this close, Kinsale heard the hoarseness in her voice. "I trust you'll do your best to ensure that this scheme of mine comes to fruition."

Maleficent waited patiently for Kinsale's response, still staring blankly at nothing. At last, when a tear fell onto the fabric of Maleficent's black dress, Maleficent turned her head in an attempt to look at her. She slid one of her arms out of Kinsale's grasp and placed it awkwardly on Kinsale's back. "Why are you upset?" she asked, genuine confusion in her voice. "You're going to be all right now. Sara will want to use me as an example. If the example is a massive failure, she'll be brought to justice. No one else will have to die."

"Maleficent, I…" Kinsale whispered into her hair, but she could not find the words. They sat in silence for a few moments, Kinsale trying desperately to gather her thoughts, and Maleficent awkwardly attempting to comfort Kinsale on the matter of her own impending surrender.

"I can't do it, Maleficent," Kinsale said at last, eyes still steadfastly downcast. "I can't make plans that will result in your death. There's got to be another way."

"If you can find one, be my guest," Maleficent responded. "But I see no way around it. If I reveal my weakness, I die. If I don't, everyone dies. Until then, I sit here like a rat trapped in a hole, hiding, endangering my friends, and making no contribution." She sighed and adjusted so that she could look Kinsale in the eyes. Kinsale could hardly bear the sight. "There's no one else in this world I could possibly trust with this task, Kinsale." She averted her eyes, and her lips curled up into a small, mirthless smile. "Or any task besides, it seems. I expect she is well?"

There was something very selfish which Kinsale found particularly heartbreaking about Maleficent's question. She knew that this was not the time to bring it up, but there might never be another. "I know I should find it flattering—an honour, even—that you trust me the way you do…and of course you have no reason to believe that I can't take care of myself…" wistfully, she traced a finger down the sharp line of Maleficent's face, "but I admit I'll always wonder how it must feel to be so completely protected by someone like you."

Maleficent frowned, perplexed. "I imagine it would be terrifying," she said earnestly.

Kinsale smiled sadly. "Aurora is well. I'm glad to hear that you didn't mean her any harm. It was what I wanted to believe, and it's what she wants to believe, as well. I don't think she'll be too happy to hear that you plan to sacrifice yourself."

Maleficent's expression abruptly turned dark. "I don't suppose you're planning to tell her. She is very kind-hearted—she saved me once before when she had no reason to do so. If she were to try such a thing again, I would not be able to return the favour."

"So that's it?" Kinsale asked, genuinely surprised. "Aren't you even going to see her again?"

Maleficent let out something like a strangled chuckle. "Don't you think I've done enough damage there?" she asked, and she seemed perhaps a bit less indifferent on the matter than she would ever concede. "I went to the trouble of frightening her away so that she wouldn't want to see me again."

Kinsale shook her head. "She misses you terribly."  _And she isn't the only one_.

Maleficent's eyes flickered up, and for an instant, Kinsale saw in them a spark of the real Maleficent, the one who hadn't resigned herself to death. "In spite of everything?"

"In spite of everything," Kinsale nodded.

Kinsale could clearly see and hear Maleficent swallow. "All the more reason I shouldn't see her," Maleficent replied firmly. "I might change my mind."

"I suppose there's nothing else I can say that would do the trick," Kinsale replied. It wasn't really a question, and Maleficent knew it. She didn't respond.

"Well," said Kinsale as she stood, "I won't lie to you: I hope you do change your mind." She smoothed the hair from Maleficent's face. "I'm going to meet with Joy and Zenovia on Monday next. I'll tell you what we discuss, but it's likely that Zenovia is being tracked, so it wouldn't be safe for you to come. She told me to let you know that Sara has heard about you."

Something very subtle changed in Maleficent's face. Kinsale could not quite pinpoint what it was, but it seemed somehow that the last remaining flicker of hope burning in her eyes had been extinguished with Kinsale's words. "Please tell Joy and Zenovia I send my regards."

Kinsale looked away until she had a handle on the tears stinging in her eyes, then regarded Maleficent once more. "I haven't given up, Maleficent."

Maleficent smiled warmly, "And you envy my protection."

Kinsale touched Maleficent's face once more, then turned to depart.

"Kinsale?"

Kinsale stopped, but she did not turn around or respond, for she had already begun to weep.

"Are there any dragons left in the world?"

Kinsale swallowed. "Only in the Mountainlands, I think. Why?"

"The young dragon hidden in the caves nearby—I…could you see to it that he finds his kin, after all of this is over?"

Kinsale covered her mouth to stifle another sob. She did not respond. Maleficent knew what her response would be, anyway.

* * *

Briar Rose had found staying with Mistress Kinsale to be an immensely refreshing experience.

First of all, there was no question as to whether it was safe to go outside. Aurora did not find the high stone walls to be confining in the least. She saw the sky, she saw the grass, the flowers, the small pond which was home to large, colourful fish, and she saw the walls as her protectors. She was safe and permitted to be out of doors.

Second, Kinsale was a much gentler and less demanding teacher than Maleficent. Rose still had the nagging sensation that her skills would be ineffectual under any sort of duress, but at least now she had some skills to speak of. Kinsale was never threatening, she was endlessly patient, and she did not seem to harbor any dark secrets. Everything about her life was always open for discussion. Under Kinsale's gentle instruction, Rose's magical ability positively flourished. She felt she had learned more in the past few weeks than she had in her months of solitude.

Kinsale had also offered to help her with her reading, and this, too, became monumentally more enjoyable under Kinsale's tutelage. Rose's absolute favourite method of practice was to look at the words of a book while Kinsale told her the story aloud, usually almost exactly as it was written on the page. This was the way she had reached the end of the tale of Mistress Acacia.

"And because Sara had been given permission to destroy Mistress Cordelia, the Fairy Queen Titania did not bother to send her Counsel down to Earth to look into the matter of Cordelia's daughter. As it happened, Mistress Joy was dealing with her own personal tragedy at that time. If she hadn't been preoccupied, she would have—"

"Her own personal tragedy?" Rose had interrupted.

"She had a very complicated relationship with Terra the Good Fairy at that time—they had bitter fights whenever they tried to speak to one another," Kinsale explained.

"That reminds me—in the Biography of Mistress Joy, you mentioned how miserable Terra was after Joy left with her father. I suppose I don't quite understand their relationship."

Kinsale looked vaguely troubled, "That's a bit of a long story. Shall we finish Acacia and then delve into Joy and Terra next time?"

Rose nodded, "All right."

So perhaps Kinsale was not quite an open book. There were two topics on which she was mysteriously silent: the missing piece of Mistress Joy's story and something about the way that she and Maleficent had met. Rose supposed that no harm could come of confronting her about these things—she had merely been surprised to learn that Kinsale did indeed have a secret or two.

Rose was still immensely conflicted on the subject of Maleficent. Even though her most recent memory of Maleficent was still freshly terrifying, it was no longer thus because of Maleficent's role in it. Rose knew, not only because she had been told, but because she felt it in every fibre of her being…she knew that there was going to be a war. There was almost no chance that she would escape this situation without running into some kind of danger. Initially, she had wanted to learn magic so that she could defend herself against such danger; however, she had so far been afforded—albeit involuntarily—two opportunities to test her new skills: once by a wicked fairy who, while intimidating, probably didn't actually intend to harm her, and the other time by a good fairy around her own height, which implied that Rose's limited magical ability might have been enough to suffice. Both times, Rose had completely frozen in fear.

In a strange way, Maleficent had merely pointed out a huge problem that Rose needed to fix: she could not perform magic when it would actually do her any good.

As if Rose's thoughts didn't offer her enough fodder for vexation, Rose could not help but miss Maleficent desperately. She hadn't even seen Maleficent much in the last few months she spent in Maleficent's childhood home, and yet she had always felt her presence everywhere. She had felt it when Maleficent left her books to read and food to eat, and when Maleficent had checked in on her to find her awake, she had known that Maleficent checked in on her when she was asleep, too. Rose had never quite realized the way her life revolved around Maleficent until her presence was no longer a viable option, and this left Rose feeling just slightly empty inside.

On the bright side, Kinsale was (to say the least) much chattier than Maleficent, and she seemed just as starved for companionship as Rose was. As such, Rose found herself with very little time for sitting and thinking, something of which she had had an excess in Maleficent's home. This, too, was a welcome respite. Rose's thoughts had a habit of getting away from her, and it was rather nice not to think too deeply about the things that troubled her at the moment. She supposed she'd have to think about them eventually, but she was admittedly avoiding this for as long as possible.

Kinsale returned home that night looking decidedly melancholy. Rose realized with a sort of bizarre eagerness that there would be no harm in asking her what was troubling her. Rose conjured up two cups of tea (the only kind she knew how to make was plain old black tea, though she sometimes managed to summon a sugar cube) and went downstairs to meet Kinsale at the door.

Kinsale gazed at her as though she had seen a ghost, then abruptly wiped her expression clean of all of her sadness and smiled. "Good evening, Aurora. Oh, you made tea? How thoughtful!"

Rose had never bothered to tell Kinsale that she didn't feel like Aurora was her name. She couldn't pinpoint why exactly, but she thought that perhaps she simply wanted to be someone else for a little while. "Where have you been today?" she asked conversationally.

"Oh, here and there," said Kinsale. She took a sip of her tea. Rose followed suit and nearly choked—it was so bitter! Kinsale's expression did not even change as she continued to drink the stuff. "I ordered a book you might like—it's an account of Cordelia's downfall by a good fairy named Esther."

Rose smiled, "That does sound interesting."

"Mistress Joy says it's 'good fairy drivel,' but I think it's useful to read a variety of perspectives."

 _Good fairy drivel_. Rose felt once more the keen sensation of missing Maleficent, yet she was loath to ask Kinsale about her. "I meant to nag you about finishing Mistress Joy's story."

Kinsale laughed, the sound a bit strained. "Ah, yes. You know, I was almost Chained for publishing that book."

"Really?" Rose gasped. "Why?"

Kinsale nodded, "When I wrote it, Joy was still Queen's Counsel. I suppose that's part of it. I had to edit it six times before the Force was satisfied."

"What did you have to edit, exactly?" Rose prodded, again feeling that she was missing a huge part of the puzzle.

"Her relationship with Terra," Kinsale responded, a hint of hesitation still lingering in her voice. "I know it must seem tame to you, reading it now, but at the time, it didn't matter how much I left out because everyone knew."

"Knew  _what?_ " Rose cried, throwing her arms out in frustration. Kinsale looked at her, startled.

"That they were lovers," she replied softly. She seemed almost surprised, as though she thought Rose ought to have guessed.

"They were…" Rose echoed, trying to wrap her head around the information. The idea, that Joy and her controversial female friend, the good fairy Terra, had been lovers struck Rose in a way she could not quite comprehend. The notion had never occurred to her before, that two women could be lovers, and yet now that Kinsale said it, she didn't know why it was so unfathomable. It certainly made Joy's story fall together more clearly. Joy's relationship with Terra had seemed so strangely intense to Rose—it didn't really make sense between platonic friends. Joy ran away with her father and a band of male wicked fairies without telling Terra, Terra was devastated…Joy gave the go ahead for Cordelia's damnation, but not Acacia's, because she was dealing with her complicated relationship with Terra…

They were lovers.

"It's really a pity that I wasn't allowed to write it the way that it happened. They had such different pasts, such different ideas about life and love, family, magic…everything, really. But at the same time, they completed each other in a strange way. It was quite beautiful. And they found peace in the end, before Terra was put to death."

"Put to death?" Rose's eyes snapped up to meet Kinsale's, which were carefully studying her reaction.

"Terra spoke in favour of Acacia in the trial," Kinsale replied. "It was a last-minute decision, made as a sort of plea to Joy that she was trying to understand, to reach her. Almost everyone who spoke in favour of Acacia was put to death when the decision was reached."

Rose felt tears welling in her eyes, and she could not find words to respond.

"It's often said that wicked fairies are incapable of understanding love, at least in the way that good fairies and humans do," Kinsale continued, and Rose suddenly saw every single one of those three hundred and ninety-four years in her eyes. "I don't think that's true. I just…I think it takes us a little longer. And usually we aren't afforded that kind of time."

Rose had become conditioned not to reach out and touch people without warning, but she realized while she was fighting the urge that Kinsale would not mind. She reached out and squeezed Kinsale's arm. Kinsale smiled and covered Rose's hand with her own.

"May I ask you something else?"

Kinsale nodded, "Of course."

"What happened when you and Maleficent met?"

Kinsale regarded her uncertainly, "Perhaps another time? I fear I keep feeding you surprising information."

Rose wanted very much to agree to wait. For one thing, every time she heard or saw or felt something that reminded her of Maleficent, she missed her former protector terribly. For another, she had a strange feeling that she knew the answer to the question she had posed, and she wasn't entirely certain that she was ready to hear it aloud, for reasons which were a bit murky to her and which she did not particularly want to examine too closely just yet.

"Another time," she agreed.

In response, Kinsale reached out and cupped Rose's face in her hands, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead before rising to clear the tea. "Oh, I'm sorry…you haven't even started yours."

Rose gave an exasperated sigh, but she could physically feel the conversation lighten, "How could you even drink that? It was awful!"

Kinsale chuckled, "It wasn't that bad."

"So you admit it was bad," Rose countered, raising one eyebrow.

Kinsale gave her a strange look, somehow amused and melancholy at the same time. "In these desperate times, I think it might be more beneficial to work on your defensive magic than on your tea-making skills. I appreciated the  _thought_."

Rose sighed, defeated. "You seemed troubled when you arrived," she said. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," she said, waving the teacups away. "War brewing and all. I'm going to meet with Mistresses Joy and Zenovia on Monday to hear their theories about how Mistress Sara will proceed."

"How is that?"

The troubled look returned to Kinsale's eyes. "For years, she seems to have been moving slowly, gathering resources. It's picked up a bit, though, which means she's planning something. It's likely she'll begin with her inquisition technique, going door to door and demanding information. If we can rally the likely targets before Sara gets to them, we'll throw her off, and as an added bonus, we'll have a larger force than we did before. That's my job: to find every wicked fairy I can and bring them here."

Aurora frowned. "How are you going to do that?"

"Oh, that's the fun part," Kinsale said with a mischievous smile which did not quite reach her eyes. "We're going to throw a party!"

* * *

_Mistress Sara,_

_I believe your letter was delivered in error. You seem to have mistaken me for one of your weak-minded lackeys. There's no need for a formal apology; I shall use it for fire kindling in my next Satanic ritual._

_Warmest regards,_

_Mistress Zenovia_

Sara smiled to herself as she ripped the letter into tiny pieces, envisioning Zenovia's limbs, instead. She reached into mid-air with her left hand and rang an invisible bell. One of her servants appeared instantly.

"Bring Zalia to me, please." The servant nodded and disappeared. Not a few seconds later, she reappeared with the youngest of the Desert Land Good Fairies in tow.

"Good afternoon, Zalia," said Sara.

Zalia curtseyed. "Good afternoon, Your Excellency." She had the same vibrant green eyes which likened her to the rest of her family, but Zalia was a bit less grounded than her older sisters, and she sometimes had a bit of a crazed look about her.

"Thank you very much for your information regarding the whereabouts of the Eastern Princess. Would you mind doing me a favour?"

"Of course not, Your Excellency," Zalia replied, curtseying again.

"Go to Mistress Felicity in the Hill Kingdom and retrieve the Eastern Good Fairies. I'm given to understand that they have taken up residence there. Take them to Mistress Kinsale's home on Monday morning and wait for her to leave—she'll be on her way to a meeting. Do you have that?"

Nod, curtsey.

"She has a very good security system, but, like all wicked fairy inventions, it is only designed to protect her. If she isn't home to answer the alarm, you can get over the wall, disable the forcefield, and break the door locks if necessary, all with little difficulty. Your objective is to retrieve the Princess Aurora alive and in one piece, but it's of no interest to me what else you choose to do while you're there."

"Take these," she said, conjuring a set of heavy chains and directing them into Zalia's hands. "The princess has been in the company of at least two powerful wicked fairies, and you mentioned that they seemed to treat her with some superficial kindness—it's possible she won't understand that you mean to help her and will put up a fight. Even if she appears to go with you willingly, keep her in these, just in case. One can never be too cautious. Understood?"

Nod, curtsey.

"Excellent," Sara smiled. "Finally, you are to leave this note for Mistress Kinsale to find. Send word to me when the princess has been safely returned to the Eastern Kingdom. If you are successful, I assure you that you will be handsomely rewarded."

Nod. "Yes, Your Excellency." Curtsey. "Thank you, Your Excellency."

"You're dismissed," Sara said by way of response.

Fortunately, Sara had been prepared for Zenovia's non-cooperation. One could never rely on wicked fairies for anything, and Zenovia was the only wicked fairy Maleficent might trust with whom Sara had a working relationship. Maleficent was a difficult fairy to lure into a trap, and Sara respected that. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Sara was aware of Maleficent's friendship with Kinsale, who was by all accounts a much more agreeable wicked fairy than either Maleficent or Zenovia. Thus, while Zalia's complaint regarding Kinsale's recent behavior came as a bit of a surprise, Kinsale could not have chosen a more opportune time to be disagreeable. Sara could return the princess to her kingdom, allow Zalia her revenge against Kinsale, frighten Kinsale and her precious little alarm system, and lure Maleficent into a very public confrontation—all in one fell swoop!

When Zalia and the Eastern Good Fairies retrieved Princess Aurora, she would leave the following note behind:

_Please inform Maleficent that if she wants her pretty plaything back, she'll have to ask Mother. If she doesn't know where to find me, here's a clue._

She had forced Maleficent's mother, Adara, to sign the letter this morning, just in case Zenovia decided not to pay her former pupil a persuasive visit.

Adara came from a long line of very powerful fairies, some of whom were rumoured to be shapeshifters. She was a skilled sorceress and an incredible fighter particularly because she was rash and unpredictable, renowned for being creative in the cruelest of ways. She mated with a man about a hundred and fifty years ago and had three daughters, all of whom she managed not to kill during their infancy. Those children must have led a terrifying existence, knowing full well that their mother would come after them when they reached maturity.

None of the literature on the family had any information on what happened when the children were in their teens, only that the two oldest children were dead, the youngest one was alive, and Adara disappeared without a trace.

That is to say, she disappeared until a few months ago when, Sara had it on first-hand authority, it turned out she had been masquerading as a human of all things for over a century. Adara now resided in Sara's dungeon. A rather impressive first, if she did say so, in her intended collection of formerly powerful evil-doers.

Regardless of how much Maleficent cared about what happened to the Eastern Princess, Sara had little doubt that Maleficent despised her mother if her childhood was anything like what Sara envisioned. Now that Maleficent had become so calamitously powerful, she would doubtless be positively famished for revenge. She would come after Adara, and when she did, she would meet her demise one way or another. No mere wicked sprite would overpower Sara.


	12. The Beginning

For the past several days, Kinsale and Briar Rose had spent their mornings practicing magic and their afternoons composing invitations to every wicked fairy Kinsale had ever known or heard of. Kinsale had emphasized that Rose was in no way obligated to help, but Rose could think of no other way she would rather spend her time. Perhaps Mistress Sara of the Kingdom by the Sea kept extensive records of every fairy living on Earth, but Kinsale's records came in the form of highly entertaining personal anecdotes, and she was more than happy to share her stories with a captivated audience.

"Oh, I almost forgot my brothers. Here's two for you," she handed two cards with the names of her youngest brothers to Rose.

"Kinsale?"

"Yes, dear."

"Do you mind if I ask what your childhood was like?" Fresh in Rose's mind was, of course, another wicked fairy's reaction to such questions.

Kinsale chuckled, "Do I mind chattering on about anything? What is it you'd like to know?"

"What was your family like?"

"Well, let's see…" said Kinsale as she finished her brothers' invitations and added them to the pile. "I don't know much about my father except that he had a strange fondness for human weaponry. He was an excellent marksman, of all things.

"My mother's name was Dalia. We had an interesting relationship because I was her only daughter, but generally speaking, she was much stricter with my brothers than with me. I don't think we had it nearly as bad as most wicked fairies."

"How do you mean, bad?"

"Oh, forgive me," said Kinsale. "Wicked fairy parents are quite well-known for inflicting rather harsh punishments upon their children when they misbehave. Zenovia's mother—she's the one from the Mountainlands—cursed her children and forced them to find a way to break the curses, themselves, for example. My mother only ever made us clean the house without magic and the like."

Rose carefully avoided asking the question she wanted to and refocused her attentions on Kinsale's past. "What are your brothers like?"

Kinsale shrugged, "They're male fairies, but my mother raised them to be quite decorous. Their names are Nicodemus, Velan, Inopius, and Merick. Nicodemus is a year older than I am—I traveled with him when he reached maturity to avoid a conflict with my mother. Velan is a year younger than I. Inopius and Merick are twelve and fourteen years younger than I am—same father, though. He left and then came back. I don't know them very well."

"Maleficent told me she never knew her father."

"Male fairies are curious. They seldom want anything to do with women who don't want to mother their children."

"What about Maleficent's mother?" Rose dared to ask—she felt she had wanted to know anything about Maleficent's family for ages.

Kinsale frowned slightly and handed Rose a few more cards. "She doesn't like to talk about her mother very much," she said quietly and then thought for a moment before responding. "Adara was a volatile woman," said Kinsale at last. "As I understand it, she sometimes punished her children for no reason at all, and her punishments were very cruel."

"Cruel?" Rose echoed, feeling very queasy.

"Maleficent once told me she spent weeks at a time chained to the walls of her bedroom. When she was a little girl, she would scream and cry, but the noise irritated Adara and she cast a Silencing Charm on her and then forgot about her for much longer."

_A visitor?_

Rose was suddenly stricken quite painfully by the image of Maleficent in chains, eyes shining with desperation and glittering in alarm when Rose tried to reach out and touch her. She clutched her hand to her heart and could think of nothing to say.

"Kinsale?" she croaked after a moment.

"Yes?"

"When you came of age, what happened?"

"Oh," Kinsale's brow furrowed again, but she continued to write. Rose's hands had grown far too shaky to be helpful. "Like many fairies with older brothers, I traveled with Nicodemus when he left home until I found a place of my own. I moved back here after my mother died, but she was killed in a rather fiery war. This house is my own creation."

"I'm sorry," Rose murmured.

"Oh, there's no need to be, dear—that was over two centuries ago," Kinsale replied evenly.

Rose twisted her hands for a moment, "Do you mind if I ask you another Maleficent-related question?"

Kinsale chuckled, "Of course not. Getting anything out of her is like pulling teeth."

Rose bit her lip as she considered the last time she had tried to ask Maleficent about her family. "You told me that it's common for wicked fairy mothers to murder their children…and I remember Maleficent saying something about conflicts between mothers and daughters over claim to the land…I asked her what happened when she and her sisters reached maturity, and she said something like 'there was a conflict before we matured.' And she didn't seem to want to say anything else, so I didn't press her."

Kinsale was staring down at an invitation, but she had stopped writing, "And you want to know about the conflict," she said.

"Yes."

Kinsale stared at the half-written note for another moment, then put down her quill and turned to face Rose. "Honestly, the only person who knows exactly what happened that night is Maleficent. It would be better if you asked her, but…well…" she averted her eyes for a moment, and when they returned, they once again held that world-weary sadness from a few days ago. "I'll tell you what I know, anyway."

* * *

All throughout her brief childhood, as soon as she had been old enough to know what it was to feel fear, Maleficent had studied and practiced ceaselessly. She had known two things: that her days were numbered and that there was no way of knowing what that number was. Whenever that fateful day arrived when Adara decided that her children were a threat to her, Maleficent wanted to be certain that she had ensured her own best chance of survival.

In spite of the ever-present terror in her heart, Maleficent had a few pleasant memories from her childhood, namely, her sisters.

Maleficent's oldest sister, Seraphina, had been breathtakingly lovely. At sixteen she'd had a curvaceous figure and a rosy-cheeked complexion. Her hair, like Adara's, was a warm, dark brown-black, and her eyes almost seemed to burn like embers. She had a temper to match—Seraphina was a bully and loved to play tricks, and she was always ready to challenge her youngest sister to a fight, magical or otherwise.

Her middle sister, Acacia, had been a sensitive child. At fourteen and a half, she had been small in stature, build, and presentation. Her hair and skin were a cool bluish-green, and her eyes were a light, stormy grey. Acacia did not share her mother and sister's affinity or talent for fire magic, and in general, she much preferred the study of magic over its practical applications.

They never spoke of it, nor did they express it—they had no way of knowing how—yet Maleficent believed she had loved both of her sisters, and she had always assumed that they loved her in much the same ineffable manner. If not, then at the very least they were bonded to one another by the silent knowledge of their impending doom.

One afternoon in April, a few days after Seraphina's sixteenth birthday, a great thunderstorm had broken out in the Dragon Country. Maleficent, who had always had a particular fondness for thunderstorms, had climbed up onto the roof to enjoy it. Under normal circumstances, it was dangerous to go outside—one must always be prepared to do battle with human soldiers at the very least. Yet, when it rained like this, Maleficent was usually the only person who dared to venture outside, and she relished feeling truly alone, even for a few moments.

Maleficent had been barely thirteen at the time. She had been gangly and awkward, mostly. Her hair, a shock of black against her pale green skin, had set her just slightly uncomfortably apart from the rest of her family, and she had kept it short in an attempt to compensate. Her arms and legs always looked to her as though someone had pulled at the bones until they stretched beyond their limits—a result of her magic having developed further than her physical age—and she hadn't known very well how to handle herself in any respect.

On this particular afternoon, Maleficent ran a hand through her short hair, enjoying the feeling of the wetness from the rain as she twirled the fingers of her unoccupied hand, trying out a little trick she had read about wherein she might catch a bolt of lightning and direct it at her will. She was feeling a bit frustrated at her inability to master the trick, for magic usually came so easily to her.

She didn't realize until years later that this wasn't a storm of natural causes.

"Daughters!" Adara's voice reverberated off of the mountains, not unlike thunder, and Maleficent's stomach twisted.

Adara was not a stable woman, to say the least. She was never precisely warm or pleasant to her children; at best, she left them well enough alone. On occasion, she lined them up in the ballroom to detail their most recent flaws and demerits and to dole out punishment as she saw fit.

Seraphina's demerits were always many and varied—she cursed, she talked back, she snuck out at night, she picked fights with her sisters—and her punishments were frequently the direst: for example, she must write her wrongdoings on the walls with her blood, then scrub the blood away without using any magic.

Adara's problem with Acacia was that she was too sensitive and, as if to drive home Adara's point, Acacia would always begin to cry out of fear. Adara would accuse her of crying in an attempt to garner sympathy and she would enchant Acacia so that she could not stop crying until she flooded half the house with her tears.

Maleficent was usually too studious, or her room was too tidy, and her punishment was almost invariably to be chained to the wall in her room for a week or two. When she was a little girl, she had cried and screamed for someone to help her, but this sometimes irritated Adara so much that she came to Maleficent's room only to cast a silencing charm on her.

Maleficent had eventually determined that her sentence wasn't fixed in any way; Adara came in to release her when she remembered that she had chained her up. As such, she quickly realized that it was most beneficial for her not to cry or scream. If Adara walked by after a week or so and heard someone moving about, she came in and let Maleficent out of her chains. If Maleficent was Silenced and her sisters were occupied with their own punishments, it sometimes took Adara a month or more to remember.

As Maleficent descended the stairs into the ballroom, she thought through the list of possible enchantments she had catalogued. She had not yet determined what enchantment Adara used upon her chains so that she could not get out of them, and she kept a running list of potential charms in her head to try out every time she was so imprisoned.

Adara stood in the center of the room, seeming to radiate electricity much like the storm outside. Maleficent took her place next to her sisters and bowed her head, awaiting the inevitable.

"Seraphina," said Adara.

"Yes, Ma'am," Seraphina murmured, robbed of her usual bravado.

"How old are you?"

"I just turned sixteen, Ma'am."

Adara approached her slowly, and Maleficent and Acacia dared to peek. "In a few years, you'll be an adult, Seraphina. Do you know what that means?"

"I'll have to find a new place to live?"

"You'll have to find a new place to live," Adara repeated darkly. Maleficent shivered. "Hmm, but don't you like it here in the Dragon Country?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"But? But what? Why can't you stay here?"

Seraphina began to babble, "Because I'll be an adult, and you live here, and I'll have to—"

"Silence!" Adara thundered. "What kind of nonsense is that?"

Seraphina didn't respond.

"If there is one thing I've taught you, Daughter, it is not this. If you want something and someone else has it, what do you do? Find something else to want?"

Seraphina was silent.

" _Answer me!_  What do you do?"

"I—you—"

Adara towered over Seraphina, her staff at her daughter's throat. "What…do…you…do?"

"Take it," Seraphina choked.

"That's my girl," Adara replied.

Seraphina screamed—a dreadful, gurgling noise—and Acacia and Maleficent whipped their heads around to see what had happened. Adara had fired a spell at Seraphina's throat, throwing her back against the opposing wall where she crumpled into a heap upon the floor. Adara approached quickly, still wielding her staff.

"Get up," she said coldly.

Seraphina wheezed.

"Get up and fight me."

"I—I don't—"

"Get up and fight me, weakling!" Adara screeched and Seraphina scrambled to her feet, arms crossed in front of her in a feeble defense.

"I don't want to fight you, Mother," Seraphina whispered. Blood was oozing from a wound in her throat—Maleficent didn't know how she could talk at all.

"You fight with your sisters. Now you'll fight me."

"But—I—"

"Go on. I'll let you have the first shot."

"Please," Seraphina breathed.

"Do it!" Adara cried. "Fight me or die a coward!"

Seraphina, tears streaming down her face and blood streaming down her body, was now visibly shaking. She put her hands together and attempted a spell. Maleficent had no idea what it was—perhaps it wasn't anything at all; perhaps it didn't form fully enough to be anything. She pushed the ball of ill-formed magic weakly in Adara's direction. Adara growled, threw the ball of magic aside, and slashed Seraphina across the body with her staff. Seraphina let out another gurgling shriek as she fell to the floor, now bleeding profusely from the middle of her body. She began to convulse.

Adara turned on her heel to face Acacia, who was already weeping, and this distracted Maleficent so that she turned away from the sight of her dying sister.

"Acacia," said Adara almost sweetly.

"P-please d-don't k-kill m-me!" Acacia managed as she began to hyperventilate. "I-I won't b-be any t-t-trouble! P-p-please!"

Adara's lip curled as she approached, leaving the convulsing body of Seraphina behind her. "No, you never were any trouble, were you?" she murmured, then brandished her staff. "You disgust me!"

"Please!" Maleficent cried.

"Silence!" Adara replied, still looming over Acacia. "I'll get to you!"

"Stop! Don't hurt her!" Maleficent cried once more. She could not be silent. She ran forward in an attempt to get Acacia away from Adara, but Adara threw her back with a spell.

"I told you to be silent, Maleficent!" said Adara.

"P-please, please…" Acacia kept saying over and over. Maleficent pushed herself up into a sitting position and glanced over to Seraphina, whose body now lay still in a pool of blood. Maleficent began to cry and she tried to crawl over to her sister's body, but she had already attracted her mother's attention.

"None of that!" Adara shrieked, throwing another spell at Maleficent which knocked her into the opposing corner. "She died a coward. No one mourns a coward."

Maleficent gazed at the ceiling and realized she could not blink. Adara had cast a binding spell on Maleficent, but Maleficent knew countless ways to escape. She broke the charm instantly and scrambled onto her knees.

"..please, please, p-please…"

"Oh, please what?" Adara turned her attention back to Acacia. "Please don't kill you? Why shouldn't I? Are you going to fight me?"

"I-I d-don't want to f-f-fight you, M-mother…"

Adara snarled. "Then meet your fate with some dignity, you sniveling child!" She gave Acacia a shove. Acacia fell to her knees and continued to plead nonsensically for her life.

"No, no, no, please, don't!" Maleficent, too, was crying. Adara turned to look at her, smiled, then turned back to Acacia. She circled her a couple of times like a bird of prey, then finally stopped behind her. She pulled Acacia back against her by the hair and drew her staff slowly across her daughter's throat.

Over a century later, Maleficent was still quite certain that Acacia's scream would never leave her thoughts.

At the time, however, instead of sending her into a fresh wave of senseless misery, Acacia's scream brought Maleficent firmly into the present. Maleficent was filled with a burning desire to survive, or at the very least, to die knowing that she had done everything in her power.

"I suppose I needn't have killed them," Adara said quietly, suddenly calm as she watched Maleficent rise on shaky legs. Vaguely, she heard a low, dull rumble of thunder from outside. "You've always been the true threat, haven't you?"

"I suppose so," Maleficent replied.

"Why? Why do you want to take my power away from me?"

Maleficent bit back her tears, and with every fibre of her being, she resisted speaking the words she desperately wanted to.  _I don't. I don't want to fight you, Mother._ Mother didn't understand. Mother would never understand.

She had known for what seemed like forever that this day would come. She had known that she must fight to the death against her own mother. She must try to win, and trying to win meant trying to kill Adara.

So, she said what she knew she must. "Because that's what you raised me to want."

Adara raised her staff. "So it is."

The battle was brutal. Maleficent fired every vicious spell she knew as fast as they came to mind. She ducked behind furniture when her magic grew weary, but she only ever had a few seconds before Adara found where she was hiding and blasted her shelter to pieces. After an hour or more, all the furniture in the ballroom lay in piles of ash. Maleficent, who was bleeding from the neck and one of her arms, and who could hardly stand to walk on her right leg, fired a spell which came out too weak, and she had nothing to duck behind. Adara smirked, knowing she had won at last, and she prepared to fire the spell that would finish Maleficent off.

Maleficent could barely move. She glanced around frantically and dragged the nearest thing she could find on top of herself, willing her magic to recharge faster.

Adara fired the spell and Maleficent watched in horror as she realized that what she had been using as a shield was the body of Seraphina. Adara's spell ripped it to shreds.

Fueled by terror and fury, Maleficent hopped to her feet, the pain in her leg now irrelevant to her. She knew she'd caught Adara by surprise and took advantage of it. She fired a spell she had never been able to try before, and Adara's staff was wrested from her grasp.

Maleficent caught the staff, fired one of the hundreds of binding spells she had memorized, and limped toward Adara, aiming the staff at her throat.

Adara was nearly as bloodied and bruised as Maleficent was. She stared up at Maleficent, unable to move, eyes wide in shock.

"Leave," Maleficent rasped, trying very hard to assemble her facial expression into something other than abject terror. "Leave this land forever. I never want to see your face again. If I do, I'll kill you."

Maleficent only knew one transportation spell. It would only get Adara as far as the Valley Kingdom, but it would do the trick. She removed the binding spell and cast Adara out of what, she supposed, was now rightfully her home. Shortly thereafter, she collapsed upon the ground next to what remained of her older sisters and waited for death.

* * *

"As I mentioned," said Kinsale, "Adara was prone to punish her children for very little reason. One day, when the eldest, Seraphina, was sixteen, putting Maleficent at just barely thirteen, Adara called her children together and, instead of doling out her usual punishments, challenged Seraphina to a duel. When Seraphina couldn't fight, Adara slit her throat. The middle sister, Acacia…" Kinsale paused for a moment, "…begged for mercy, but Adara slit her throat, as well."

She took a deep breath. "Maleficent, however, knew from a very young age that Adara's attack would come and prepared ceaselessly for it. After having just witnessed the brutal murder of her sisters, she fought her mother and won."

Rose wasn't certain when she had begun to cry. She only barely noticed the tears trailing down her cheeks. Before long, her body began to contract with the force of wracking sobs which surprised her, and she wrapped her arms about herself in an attempt to physically pull herself together. She thought of Maleficent as impossibly strong, a force to be reckoned with, immovable, untouchable…the thought of Maleficent in chains, the way Rose had first seen her, always made her very uncomfortable, but even at that time, injured, chained, and stripped of her magic, Maleficent had somehow managed to exude power, not to mention gain control of the situation.

To imagine a young Maleficent, one who was simply not yet old enough to be her magnificent self, was in itself nearly impossible. To imagine such a creature knowing fear and torment every day of her life, knowing that one day her own mother would try to murder her, knowing that she must train herself to fight back…to imagine her sitting alone in silence for weeks on end, chained to the wall of the bedroom where Rose had once accidentally fallen asleep…this pained her in a way she hadn't thought possible.

Rose suddenly felt Kinsale gently nudging her to move over. Kinsale sat next to her and embraced her warmly, and Rose collapsed into her, her sobs only doubling. She could not remember the last time someone had held her when she cried.

She had been so stupid to think she could somehow draw Maleficent out of her shell. All the gentle questions, the careful observation to make sure she wasn't pushing too far, it had been childishly simplistic. Maleficent had over a century of misery under her belt, and she made it quite clear that she had come to believe that the world held nothing more for her.

And who was Rose to tell her differently? Rose hadn't even a fraction of Maleficent's experience from which to speak, nor did she have evidence to the contrary. She'd spent her childhood surrounded by nothing but love and kindness—indeed, by all accounts, she'd led a charmed life for sixteen years—only to learn that her happiness was a veritable castle of lies.

And really, Rose could scarcely take care of herself. She knew enough magic to fix a disgusting cup of tea and perhaps defend it from a cool breeze, and here she was weeping like the child she was into the shoulder of someone she really didn't even know very well because of how utterly powerless she was to ease the pain of someone else about whom, incidentally, she also knew next to nothing.

"I am so sorry, dear," Kinsale said softly, stroking Rose's hair. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you."

"N—no, it's…" Rose tried, but she was hyperventilating. "It's—I—I'm glad—you did…"

"Shh, there, there," Kinsale murmured.

Rose waited to speak until her breathing had steadied. "It…she…everything…sort of makes more sense to me now, in a way…"

"I hope you won't think of her as a mere product of her tragic childhood," Kinsale said.

"No, I mean…" Rose righted herself and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I had this stupid idea that I could…help her or, I don't know, save her from herself or something…"

Kinsale smiled sadly. "That isn't stupid, Aurora. As I think I mentioned to you once before, it isn't easy for a wicked fairy and a human to understand one another. It's not impossible; it simply takes more time than most people have."

Rose twisted her hands fretfully, "I want to…I don't know…to go to her and talk to her. But that's stupid, too."

Kinsale took Rose's hands—which were small, pale, and uncommonly cold—between her own—which were long-fingered, emerald green, and warm—and with the comforting gesture brought an end to the fitful movement. Rose looked up into Kinsale's eyes and saw in them a grave seriousness. "If and when she realizes her many mistakes, she'll come here and apologize for her behaviour," Kinsale said. The implication was that Rose must wait for this hypothetical event to occur.

"What if she doesn't?"

Kinsale's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "She will," she said, her voice thin. "One way or another, I'm certain she will."


	13. The Reckoning

Maleficent couldn't remember the last time she had felt particularly well. Throughout her entire life, she'd been plagued by an ever-present undercurrent of unease. She felt that every day was a struggle to defend what little she had secured for herself and thereby not only ensure her survival, but that the life she so fiercely protected was at least tolerable, if not perhaps exactly enjoyable.

In fact, most of Maleficent's enjoyment came from Schadenfreude. She found that if she could convince herself that someone else was worse off than she, or better yet, if she could engender someone else's misfortune, she felt infinitely less horrible about the state of her own life.

Adding Briar Rose to the miserable equation that was usually her existence had been almost too much to handle. Strike that, it had been far, far too much. First of all, Maleficent had become fonder of Rose in their first encounter than she ever was of most people. The princess was beautiful, even looking past the magical beauty Flora had gifted her, and she was spirited, clever, and curious, not to mention disarmingly kind-hearted. Maleficent had noticed this when Rose became teary-eyed at the idea of Maleficent being put to death. Maleficent, who had cursed her, who had, albeit for a short time which had now passed, wanted her dead, and Rose found it unthinkable that she should be put to death for her crimes. It showed a remarkable disregard for self-preservation, really.

At the time, Maleficent had seen it as a thing to exploit. The princess was kind-hearted and unhappy. Maleficent would promise her whatever she thought might make her happy in return for her freedom.

_I want you to take me with you._

Admittedly she hadn't expected that—and this, too, was to the princess's credit, for Maleficent had experienced few surprises in her lifetime. It was rather poetic, though: freedom for freedom. Maleficent had no idea what she was supposed to do with an emotionally fragile human girl who was little more than a child, but she wasn't very well going to say no, was she?

Indeed, Briar Rose was unlike anyone Maleficent was used to dealing with. She was often indirect and wishy-washy in an attempt to be polite, her first response to being hurt or offended (which was very easy to do) was to insult herself or to cry, and she did not seem to operate on any sort of hidden agenda. Her plans had genuinely only extended as far as asking Maleficent to take her along. She didn't want to stay in the castle anymore (not that Maleficent could blame her), so why not go traipsing away with her would-be murderer? Maleficent didn't bother asking her where she was planning to go or what she might do there. She realized almost immediately that Rose had no idea, and the princess was so prone to self-loathing, anyway, that asking such questions could only end in disaster.

And Maleficent couldn't just let her wander off—oh no, that would be too damn simple. She was so…fragile. So defenseless. And although defenselessness would normally cause Maleficent's lip to curl in either disgust or delight, in this particular instance, she was seized by the unfamiliar desire to be helpful. She found that, just as much as she wanted to protect herself, she wanted to protect Briar Rose. In as few as six hours and without her knowledge or consent, Rose had been suddenly added to Maleficent's list of priorities, and there was something profoundly unnerving about that.

Upon further inspection, Maleficent discovered many things about Briar Rose that unnerved her, chief among them Rose's insatiable interest in Maleficent's many unresolved personal issues. It seemed she was always ready with a question Maleficent didn't even want to answer within the confines of her own mind or a hand to reach out in a misguided attempt at comfort.

Maleficent didn't like to be touched by just anyone, and being touched without warning almost invariably brought unpleasant memories to the forefront of her mind. She'd rarely been touched as a child—her sisters kept their distance unless they were fighting with her and her mother kept her distance unless she was in the foulest of moods. The only times she'd been touched in her travels, it had been by men who thought they could touch her if they felt like it—that if they could get close enough to touch her, they could overpower her—and she had quickly and mercilessly corrected their misconceptions. There was nothing she despised more. As soon as she'd gained the necessary skills to fend off unwanted touch, they had become a reflex. If someone touched her unexpectedly, she responded with a vicious magical attack and asked questions later.

Fellow wicked fairies who were also women usually understood this best. Maleficent seldom had a problem with her kin touching her, mostly because they didn't. Kinsale was the exception to this rule, and Maleficent had become somewhat accustomed to her constant need to touch for no reason at all. She had eventually accepted that Kinsale could understand Maleficent's aversion to touch without sharing it.

She disliked her reaction to Briar Rose touching her because it made her feel like some sort of crazed animal. A slip of a human girl about two heads shorter than she reached out and brushed her arm and Maleficent reacted as though the Force were upon her. Perhaps Zenovia had been right all those years ago in saying Maleficent was too high-strung and needed to seriously examine her paranoia.

What she disliked even more, however, was that one reflexive shot hadn't been enough to deter future touching. Not a few days later, when Maleficent had discovered that all that remained of the Dragon Country was a lone dragonet hidden away in a cave, she had become suddenly overwhelmed.

"I feel…" she'd found herself saying aloud as she groped blindly for words she could barely even comprehend. "I feel alone," she'd decided finally. "Empty."

Her first thought was that she wished she hadn't brought Rose to the cave. She wanted to be alone in her grief. Her second thought was that she was glad she had brought Rose along because she desperately did not want to be alone in her grief. Immediately following that was how absurd it was for her not to want to be alone. Maleficent could not remember a time when she hadn't felt that way. Even in her youth, constantly surrounded by her family, she'd known that there would come a day when she would be completely alone, and she had wasted no time in preparing for that.

The time she had spent with Kinsale had been the closest she'd ever felt to  _not alone_. And then something in Kinsale had changed and Maleficent could not understand it, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how long she stared into Kinsale's eyes and tried to ask her,  _What is it you want from me? What do you suddenly want that I don't know how to give you?_

And instead of waiting in silent dread of the answer that might never come, Maleficent had run away. She'd spent too long waiting for the inevitable, she thought. It was her right to run away.

"I feel as though a large part of me is missing," she'd amended, and this was as close to accurate as she felt she could be.

And then suddenly she had not been quite so alone. The girl—the girl she barely even knew, the girl she'd wanted dead, but who seemed really rather pleasant company and who on a small, unimportant side note, had just recently saved her life for no good reason—the girl had suddenly been very much there and very much in her personal space.

And there were her hands, reaching out for Maleficent. She saw them coming. She could have stopped them. Rose was giving her every opportunity to do so, and she should have done. She didn't want to be touched. She'd made that clear already.

But she did nothing. She allowed Rose to touch her face. Her hands were soft and warm, and the sensation was slightly overwhelming. Some shackles those little hands were, and yet Maleficent felt as though she could not move. She looked up—how long had it been since she had to look up at anyone?—into Rose's eyes, which were an intense violet shade of blue, and once again tried to ask the same silent question she had never dared to pose to Kinsale.

_What do you want from me?_

With painstaking deliberation, Rose settled herself into Maleficent's arms as though she belonged there, and the tears Maleficent had thus far kept at bay suddenly sprung to her eyes. She bit her lip and breathed deeply for a few seconds until she had them under control and then, for lack of a better idea, placed her arms awkwardly around the princess, who seemed to be already half-asleep. She stayed there, stiff and unmoving, until she heard Rose's breathing deepen, then she carried the princess back to Acacia's bed.

A moment later, when Maleficent lay wide awake in her own childhood bed, she began to feel angry.

Who in Hell's name was she! Who was she to come waltzing into Maleficent's life and touching her as though it were nothing? Who was she to—to—to  _snuggle up_  to her as though Maleficent couldn't and wouldn't snap her lovely little neck?

This time, though, she had nowhere to run. She had run to her only remaining hiding place. It wasn't as though Kinsale wouldn't have taken her in, but she came with her own myriad of unresolved past issues with which Maleficent was simply not equipped to even begin to deal.

Maleficent had run in the best way she could. She'd spent her days anywhere but in her mother's house, usually in dragon form where most strong emotions blurred into fire-breathing rage, but there was Briar Rose at the end of the day waiting up for her. What exactly was she playing at? The truly jarring thing—and no matter how many times Maleficent reminded herself of this, she still could not quite wrap her head around it—was that Rose wasn't playing at anything. She wouldn't know how if she tried.

It was unnerving, and Maleficent really preferred to distance herself from it whenever possible.

Then, when Rose took to her studying night and day and Maleficent never saw her anymore, this was the worst part—Maleficent began to miss her. She missed feeling uncomfortable! How absurd was that?

She convinced herself at first that she was only stopping in every so often to drop off a book or some food, then just to make sure the girl was still alive. After a month or two, though, Maleficent dropped all pretense. She looked in upon Briar Rose every night before she went to sleep and every morning when she awoke because she wanted to see her, and how pathetic could she be, really?

In all honesty, she had begun to feel something remarkably akin to optimism. She surprised herself by not wanting to dwell upon the probability of Rose striking out on her own as soon as she had the means to protect herself and dwelt instead upon the ridiculous notion that, now a bit older and equipped with a bit of magic, she might be on slightly more equal footing with Maleficent and Maleficent wouldn't feel so horribly bad for wanting her.

There, she supposed, was the crux of the problem.

Maleficent hated that out of all of the powerful, attractive, perfectly available people she had met in her life—wicked fairies who would not think her looks freakish, who would think twice before calling her  _it_  or  _that monster_ , who would not find her worldview unfathomable, and who would have been equipped to respond to her advances as they'd seen fit if she had ever made any—the one who should finally 'strike her fancy' was not only a human girl who was all but helpless, married, and a princess, but the very princess she had almost killed.

If Rose had been a younger, less experienced wicked fairy, regardless of the other complications, Maleficent wouldn't have been so bothered by it. It wouldn't have been the first time in the history of the world that an older wicked fairy had lusted after a younger one, and it wouldn't have been the biggest age difference by far.

Unfortunately, the only stories Maleficent had ever heard of wicked fairies lusting after humans were rather gruesome and not really how Maleficent cared to identify herself. Rose was not a wicked fairy. She was barely even magical, and she was scarcely more than a child. Should Maleficent accidentally reveal her feelings, they would not be merely unrequited or even unwanted, they would be predatory. It was not lost on Maleficent that she held considerable power over Rose, physical and mental. If Maleficent were to make some kind of advance, Rose would be under immense pressure to acquiesce out of fear for her personal safety. While knowing this made Maleficent physically ill, it did little to curb her attraction.

As if Maleficent weren't already on the edge of madness, then she'd gone to visit Joy.

"So," she'd said, "what brings Maleficent the Great and Powerful to my doorstep?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Maleficent frowned.

"I'd have thought you'd know very well what it means. Those three obnoxious little good fairies plus Felicity of all people came by to taunt me about it."

"About what?"

"How you enchanted the Eastern Princess to set you free while you were Chained, of course," Joy waved her hands erratically and Maleficent's stomach sank.

Maleficent was stunned into silence for a moment or two, but it was all Joy needed to understand.

"Oh," she murmured.

 _I am going to die_ , thought Maleficent.

The next few days had nearly driven her certifiably mad. She'd tried and tried to think of some way around this, some loophole wherein she could get out of this alive and wouldn't have to spend the remainder of her life hiding, and found absolutely nothing. It was strange, because it seemed she'd been in direr straits than these. It seemed with a bit of time to formulate a plan she ought to be able to come up with something. Even a long shot at this point would be worth a go.

And yet there seemed to be no way out. When Sara heard the rumour—and if Felicity had anything to do with it, she would—she would want Maleficent out of the picture as soon and as publicly as possible, as a message to anyone who dared defy her. Maleficent's power would be seen as a direct threat to Sara, a skill deliberately developed to counteract the effects of the Chains of Avasina, and she would be put to death one way or another.

One evening, Maleficent peeked into Rose's room to find her asleep in the desk chair, her head propped up on her hand as though she were still reading, though the candle had burnt out long ago. Maleficent did her best to move Rose gently over to the bed and tucked her in. She thought Rose might have awoken for an instant, but she wouldn't likely stir. She didn't know much about human sorceresses, but from what she had observed of Rose, practicing magic invariably exhausted her to the point of unconsciousness.

Maleficent smoothed Rose's hair and a fresh wave of unease flooded through her. She had to get Rose out of harm's way. Preferably sooner rather than later.

For lack of anything better to do but lie awake in her own bedroom down the hall, Maleficent moved the desk chair over to Rose's bedside and sat down, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion.

Perhaps it would be best if, when Sara invariably heard the rumour and sent someone after her, she were to go down without much of a fight. This was a bit of a long shot plan, but it might work in her favour. If Sara found out about Maleficent's alleged power and took drastic measures to contain her and Maleficent did not put up adequate resistance to justify Sara's means, she would probably still die, but in doing so, she would prove that Sara was acting rashly where wicked fairies were concerned—very publicly so if she were lucky—and Sara's scheme to get rid of all the wicked fairies in the world might just end with Maleficent.

Half-consciously, Maleficent wrapped her arms around herself as she began to shiver. The idea made sense to her, and she couldn't think of any other. Still, after all these years of fiercely protecting her life, of surviving before all else, it felt just a bit like giving up.

Maleficent didn't want to die. Her life had only just recently become something close to enjoyable.

She glanced back at Rose's face, her features peaceful in slumber, just the way she had looked when she'd slept under Maleficent's curse. She wondered how Prince Philip had felt when he'd finally climbed the hundreds of winding stairs to that tower room, laid eyes upon such a magnificent creature and known that she'd awaken only for his kiss. She wondered whether he appreciated the intricate beauty in that, that in that moment he should be the one person in all the world who could give Briar Rose her freedom.

She rather doubted he did, but perhaps her opinion of the Northern Prince was somewhat jaded by his insistence upon referring to Maleficent as 'it.'

Perhaps Maleficent was over-poeticizing—all of that was, of course, presuming Maleficent's spell hadn't been broken by her near-death, anyway. If it had, any old kiss would probably have done the trick. How should Maleficent know? She knew about as much of Magical True Love as Merryweather did.

It was rather bizarre that Philip should be Rose's True Love—as Maleficent understood it, that sort of magic was difficult to detect, especially if one had never personally experienced it. It also made little sense. Rose hadn't so much as mentioned Philip in months.

In any event, Maleficent certainly wasn't going to be the one to bring him up.

After another few moments of senseless wishful thinking, Maleficent retired to her own bedroom. She eventually did manage to get to sleep, but in her dreams, she was Chained and forced to watch as Mistress Sara challenged Briar Rose to a duel. Rose tried to fight back, but her magic was too weak, and instead, she fell to her knees and begged for mercy. Sara laughed cruelly and looked over at Maleficent before she slit Rose's throat.

Maleficent awoke drenched in sweat, a scream she could never forget still ringing in her ears. She was surprised to find that she was not in chains and that she was in full possession of her magic, and she all but leapt from her bed, as though lying there any longer would somehow force her to go to sleep again. Without thinking, she made her way back to Briar Rose's room. She saw a light from beneath the door and knocked.

"Come in," said the voice that had begun to haunt her dreams, soft and perhaps a little tired, but very much alive and not in pain.

Maleficent opened the door and leaned her head in to see Briar Rose sitting on the edge of her bed, golden hair bathed in soft candlelight. She looked up at Maleficent as she entered and smiled. Maleficent had to swallow a lump in her throat before she spoke. "Good evening."

"Look!" she said. "Now you see me…now you don't!"

And indeed, she disappeared completely for a full three or four seconds. As she faded back into view, her expression had turned from one of excitement to one of frustration. "Useless," she said.

"Progress," Maleficent corrected her. Perhaps, she thought, Briar Rose would have time to become a proper sorceress before anyone came after Maleficent.

She'd briefly considered simply telling Rose her plan, but upon seeing the girl's reaction to the barest essentials of it, telling her more seemed like a poor choice in the making. She supposed she'd already known that. Briar Rose had saved her life once before with absolutely no reason. Now that she thought of Maleficent as a friend…well, Maleficent had already known she needed to get Rose away from her. She simply hadn't known her goodbye would have to be so soon.

Maleficent didn't go back to bed that night. She couldn't bear the thought of enduring a similar nightmare, and with the image still plaguing her, she was unlikely to be rid of it until she had the time and patience to brew herself a dreamless sleeping potion. Part of her supposed she ought to make time eventually—perhaps a night of untroubled rest would do her mind a bit of good—but another part of her thought perhaps she ought to stay awake and make use of what might very well be her last months or even weeks of life.

Maleficent ultimately decided to light the fireplace downstairs. She then sat in front of it to contemplate all of the unfinished business in her life and how to go about finishing it to the best of her ability.

She had already thought of Diablo earlier. She'd been investigating how to turn him back from stone into a bird—if such a thing was possible—and she thought she'd come upon the correct spell, when…what had happened? The meeting with Joy, she supposed. Well, she ought to get on that. Diablo was a magically enchanted bird. After she died and her enchantment upon him ended, he wouldn't likely have very long left to live, but it would be nice to have her most faithful companion by her side until the end. She'd asked Briar Rose to go along with her to attempt to retrieve Diablo for some idiotic reason…she supposed she was already preparing herself for the separation she knew must occur...yet, nothing could go horribly wrong. She was prepared for whatever happened.

Perhaps she ought to ask Kinsale about what happened between them all those years ago. She doubted there would be any hard feelings, and it would ease her mind to finally know what had changed in Kinsale that Maleficent had failed to understand. Perhaps if it would do Maleficent good to talk about it, it would be good for Kinsale, as well.

As for Briar Rose…well, she had the sneaking suspicion that that particular business would have to be left unfinished. There were so many things she should say, and still more she simply wanted to say to clear her own mind, but if she was to ensure Rose's safety, she must somehow get rid of Rose without letting on that she planned to die.

Maleficent supposed in a way she had already prepared herself for Diablo's death. She'd lost so much already, she almost expected she'd lost him, as well. When she cast the spell, the stone statue of a bird in flight melted into the bird, himself, which immediately fell limply into Maleficent's outstretched arms. Maleficent sank onto the balcony of her former home and sat there for an hour or more, cradling the body of her beloved pet.

She wasn't quite certain how much more of it she could take—losing people. It was enough to make one want to hole oneself up alone for the rest of one's miserable existence so as not to have to deal with this kind of heartbreak over and over again. Soon she'd have to drive Rose away somehow. She'd have to frighten her so that all of her little fears and suspicions about the dangerous monster she called a friend would be confirmed and she'd run away—hopefully to Kinsale, who not only had the capacity to keep her safe but other delightful attributes such as having few secrets or painful memories for Rose to stumble upon and no hang-ups vis-à-vis touching or being touched.

Maleficent found herself envying Kinsale within the context of a bizarre hypothetical situation. She pictured the two of them taking their tea side by side, no fear or hesitation in Rose's eyes as she spoke. She pictured each of them occasionally reaching out to touch the other casually, to punctuate something they'd said or when they were laughing, just because they wanted to.

Wasn't this the way touch was supposed to work? Was it not meant to be pleasant and without threat or dramatic consequences?

Maleficent envied Kinsale, yet she felt happy for Briar Rose. The image in her head made her feel that she was doing the right thing by sending Rose away.

She still owed Rose a challenge. That would be as good a time as any to frighten Rose into running away from her. Then she might mourn her two losses in peace, and perhaps suffer no more before she met her own demise. The book with the easiest transportation spell Maleficent could think of lay in Maleficent's library here in the Forbidden Mountains—she'd leave it for Rose to find and hope for the best.

As she buried the remains of her raven companion, Maleficent tried once again to remind herself that she was doing what she must. If Rose knew Maleficent meant to die for the sake of her species, she'd try to stop her, and there was a very good chance she'd succeed to her own detriment. This way, Rose wouldn't have to know until it was too late. Perhaps Maleficent could write her a letter.

Then again, perhaps it would be better if she believed Maleficent to be beyond help. She'd mourn her death, of course, for she'd made it clear she would mourn anyone's death, but if Maleficent could convince her that she was unworthy of her loyalty, Rose would have an easier time moving on with her life.

Determining how best to frighten Rose was not difficult. She simply did what she never did, and the moment she began encroaching upon Rose's personal space, she saw what she'd almost forgotten was there all along. The girl feared her.

"Please, stop!" she had begged, her eyes shining with tears.

"Do you think someone who wanted to hurt you would stop if you asked him to?" Maleficent sneered in response, trying to forget that those fearful eyes belonged to Briar Rose.

What brought her back from her delusion were Rose's accusing words, "No, but I thought you would!" Maleficent could take no more than that. She let go of Rose, who crumpled into a heap upon the floor, and shot up the stairs. Someone who wanted to hurt Rose wouldn't heed her pleas. For all Maleficent knew, she might not have heeded the girl's pleas even a year ago.

As it stood, however, the Maleficent who liked to pretend she was driving Rose away for her own safety (and not for Maleficent's personal comfort) had done her duty as well as she could stand to do it. She deposited the proper book in Rose's bedroom and locked herself inside her own. A twisted part of her considered chaining herself to the walls, Silencing herself, and spending the rest of her days waiting for someone to come and find her. It would be fitting, she thought venomously. She'd end her life the way she began it: alone, trapped, and powerless…a prisoner of her own mind.

But then, she supposed she didn't need to take any special measures to achieve that poetic justice.

Strangely, she knew when Rose was gone. She wasn't certain whether she'd felt the spell or the absence of the person, but she left her room to check (in part because failed transportation spells sometimes ended in severed limbs getting left behind) and sure enough, the only trace of Briar Rose that remained was the tiny daisy growing out of a crack in the writing desk.

Maleficent stood in the center of the room for a few more moments staring half at the little daisy and half at nothing in particular. Eventually, the information made its way into her brain: Briar Rose was gone. Maleficent crawled onto the bed which had once been her sister's and which was no longer Rose's. She grasped Rose's pillow between shaking hands and lay on her side, curling herself into a ball around it.

 _Goodbye, Diablo_ , she thought.  _Wouldn't you have a lot to say if you could see me now? And what I wouldn't give to explain every last detail to you, old friend._

What she wouldn't give to be able to explain every last detail to herself, really.

 _Goodbye, Briar Rose_ , she thought next, and the teardrop that fell onto Rose's pillow surprised her.  _You saved my life…_

She clutched the pillow against herself and wept, a small moan of despair escaping her lips. She had truly lost everything now.

_Goodbye, Briar Rose._

_You saved my life…_

… _and now I've saved yours._

* * *

Zalia had always been rather fond of Mistress Kinsale—in no small part because she enjoyed her writing—and she had always found Mistress Felicity and her sisters a bit intimidating. Felicity was friends with her older sister, Milla. Until Kinsale had evidently snapped and taken up for a dangerous lunatic, Zalia and Felicity had never had much to talk about.

"Oh, my dear, I know—I understand," Felicity gushed upon hearing of Zalia's most recent encounter with Kinsale. "Many, many people have been drawn in by Kinsale's friendly exterior," she explained as she called for someone to escort Zalia to the Eastern Good Fairies' chambers. "In the end, they're all the same, and they'll all protect their own at the expense of reason."

Zalia had never met the Eastern Good Fairies before. She found Flora and Merryweather still in a state of shock at the recent actions of their middle sister, Fauna.

"—never says so much as a word against anyone—"

"—or for anyone, for that matter!"

"She's always sort of seemed contented to do as she was told, or what we were doing!"

"Nothing less—"

"—and certainly nothing more—"

"Run off!"

"Without even speaking to us about it!"

Flora and Merryweather had the nasty and highly irritating habit of speaking over one another. Zalia could barely understand the gist of what they were saying. Apparently Fauna had recently made a decision without the input of her sisters and had left to serve as King's Counsel while Flora and Merryweather continued to aid Felicity. Perhaps Zalia did not quite grasp the urgency of the situation, but she wasn't certain she cared enough to try.

Still, Flora and Merryweather were overjoyed at the prospect of returning the Princess Aurora to her family—and of getting a chance to visit their recently departed sister and ask her a few burning questions—without abandoning their newfound commitment to the Cause.

"I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" Merryweather kept saying when they learned that Aurora was currently residing with Mistress Kinsale of the Valley.

"And if you hadn't been so rash, it mightn't have taken us a year to find out," Flora replied with a  _humph_.

The sisters bickered all the way to Kinsale's home, and Zalia actually had to shush them when she saw Kinsale appear from behind her stone wall, then dissolve into a cloud of smoke and disappear completely. Zalia so envied wicked fairies' ability to transport themselves that way. They could instantly go anywhere they had ever been, and some places they had never been.

When they approached the walls, nothing happened. Zalia found this quite peculiar—she supposed she had only ever come by when Kinsale was home, for she found it unfathomable not to hear the customary  _WHO GOES THERE?_ bellowing from every possible direction.

Just as Sara said, without Kinsale, the security system was all but useless. A few simple spells and they flew easily over the wall and up to the front door, which was not even locked.

Kinsale's ballroom was, in her absence, a dark and somewhat eerie place. The only light in the room streamed from a few open windows here and there, and all of Kinsale's elegant furniture cast strange, almost frightening shadows.

"Stand back!" said a familiar voice, and Flora, Merryweather, and Zalia were all knocked to the ground. "S-stay where you are," the voice added tremulously, and suddenly two members of the party were painfully aware of the person to whom the voice belonged.

The Princess Aurora appeared out of the shadows, holding the staff of a wicked fairy awkwardly in front of her. Her knuckles were white with the effort, and her entire body was shaking.

"Rose!" cried Flora and Merryweather at once.

Aurora almost dropped the staff. The fear in her eyes increased tenfold, and she looked and sounded as though she wanted to cry. "What are you doing here?"

"We've come to take you home, Rose," said Flora, standing and dusting herself off. "Now, put that thing down before you hurt yourself," she commanded as she approached.

"No! Stand back!" Aurora said again, and again, Flora was knocked to the ground. "I told you to stay where you are," she said, but she would have been much more convincing if she weren't trembling.

"Who taught you that, Rose?" whispered Merryweather, horrified. "Who made you do magic?"

"Nevermind that," the princess snapped. The Eastern Fairies gasped and clutched at one another, evidently as stunned by her behavior as was Zalia. "Please be on your way. Mistress Kinsale will be back soon, and she won't be nearly as merciful."

"I'm afraid we're on orders to take you back to the King, Princess Aurora," said Zalia, having finally somewhat recovered from the shock that her intended charge was at least a hundred times more powerful than she had anticipated. Was this truly the same girl who had frozen in fear upon being accosted a few weeks ago?

"Stay away from me!" Aurora cried, and this time, she used the staff to fire a spell. Zalia anticipated it, though, and she caught and deflected it. There was a brief struggle—Aurora tried firing a few more spells, but they were only defensive ones and did little to deter Zalia. Once Zalia had wrested the staff away from her and caught her by the wrists, Aurora was completely powerless.

Zalia quickly summoned the chains Sara had given her and enchanted them, just in case Aurora knew any spells for breaking them. There was no way Sara could have anticipated Aurora knowing any magic. Zalia's enchantment would at least hold Aurora until they made it to King Stefan's castle. "Don't worry, my dear," she said, fastening the chains. "You'll thank me in the end."

Zalia turned back to Flora and Merryweather. "I gather this is an unexpected development?"

The two fairies nodded dumbly.

"No matter," said Zalia. She was well aware that the Eastern Kingdom was in possession of Avasina's Chains. "She'll have to be Chained, of course, but a year should do it."

Upon hearing this, Aurora stomped upon one of Zalia's feet and attempted to run away with strides as big as her chains would allow. Zalia spun after her and cast a binding spell, but the princess suddenly disappeared completely from view and her spell bounced off of a wall. Apparently Aurora was a better sorceress than she seemed. Indeed, she would have made it up the stairs if her chains hadn't made such a commotion. Zalia fired her binding spell in the direction of the noise and the princess slowly faded back into view as she fell paralyzed upon the staircase.

"Are you going to behave, or am I going to carry you all the way to the next realm in a body bag?"

Princess Aurora stared blankly back at her, unable even to blink.

"That's what I thought," said Zalia with a smirk, undoing the spell. She helped Aurora to her feet with a tug on her chains and deposited her with Flora and Merryweather for a moment. Zalia gazed lovingly around the elegant ballroom, and then she threw up her hands and screamed so loudly that everything in the room—tables, chairs, chandeliers, and Kinsale's beloved throne with the shape of a lion's head atop it—shattered into tiny pieces.

With a nod of satisfaction, she deposited Sara's note in the middle of the floor, and the party continued their journey to the Eastern Kingdom.

* * *

Truth Serum was a nifty little tool cooked up by a good fairy a few centuries back during one of the Crusades. Even the best liar wasn't immune to the stuff—if someone got a few drops down your throat, you couldn't help but tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

When Joy acquired a small vial from her pal Makeda up in the northern Desert, she was thrilled to allow Fauna go on her merry way to the Eastern Kingdom, promising to contact her when her help was required. Fauna was a hesitant ally, certainly, but she was a very valuable one nonetheless. One could never underestimate the value of a good fairy when the Chains of Avasina were involved.

Her next order of business occurred a few days later when, around noon, Zenovia arrived at her doorstep, shortly followed by Kinsale.

Joy had always gotten along quite splendidly with both Zenovia and Kinsale. While she and Zenovia shared more common ground in general, Kinsale had written a book about her back when she was Queen's Counsel, and she had almost been Chained for trying to write the truth. Joy admired Kinsale tremendously for her courage, a trait many people (including Zenovia) failed to see in her. Zenovia found Kinsale to be 'exceedingly prone to nonsense,' a designation she found unforgivable, and thus avoided contact with her when possible, especially one-on-one.

The two nodded politely to one another, but neither seemed willing to make idle chitchat. While this was standard behavior for Zenovia, it was highly unusual for Kinsale, who, it had been posited, would probably attempt to strike up a conversation whilst being burned at the stake.

"So, my theory," said Joy when she had served her guests tea, "is that Sara is going to want to use Maleficent as an example."

Kinsale and Zenovia both nodded in agreement.

"She's going to cook up some scheme to get Maleficent to the Kingdom by the Sea—set her up somehow—and the Mountainland Fairies are going to be waiting. She'll expect to be able to draw Maleficent into a fight and, when she defeats them, the Queen's Counsel will be waiting to pass their verdict on the situation and the court will agree to give Sara control of the Force to deal with Maleficent. Thoughts?"

"Maleficent has approximately the same theory," said Kinsale. She sounded tired. "She plans to lose easily to the Mountainland Fairies to reveal that Sara has acted rashly, in hopes that she'll be brought to justice."

Zenovia looked at Kinsale in surprise. "What?"

"That's what she told me last week," said Kinsale. She did not sound particularly thrilled with the idea. Joy was surprised that Kinsale seemed so calm—she and Maleficent were close friends.

"There's no sense in that!" Zenovia exclaimed, her voice and gestures suddenly impassioned. "These good fairies aren't playing by the rules—if Maleficent martyrs herself like that, the only thing that will happen is that we'll lose an excellent fighter."

"Think of another plan, then," Kinsale replied almost despondently. "She won't listen unless there's a better plan."

"The plan is for Maleficent not to simply walk into whatever flimsy trap Sara sets up."

"Instead, she should what? Wait for Sara to hunt her down?"

"Yes, and she should prepare and fight!" Zenovia replied as though this answer were obvious. "Maleficent could beat the Mountainland Fairies, and then we'd have time before the Force—"

"If she bests all of the Mountainland Fairies at once, the Court will rule against her," Joy interjected. "There will be nothing to be done then."

"Then what do you suggest?" Zenovia snapped.

"I have taken the liberty of writing to the Queen regarding Maleficent. I'm confident that she'll grant me a meeting to discuss the issue. If we get to her before Sara does, there's a chance that she'll listen to me."

"Are you certain of that? What about the debacle with Acacia?"

"Don't you start with me!" Joy snarled at Zenovia, who stood. "You know damn well what happened."

"Yes, I do. You let your baser instincts get in the way of your duty."

Joy and Zenovia summoned their staves and in the same instant, each held her staff at the other's throat. "It's rude to speak ill of the dead."

"She'd still be alive if not for you."

" _Don't_  act like you care!"

"Ladies!" Kinsale cried, shoving herself between them. "If the good fairies destroy us, it will be because of this, right here. You know that. They want us to act like this, believing we are alone, believing we cannot understand or care for anyone but ourselves. Show some compassion,  _please_."

Zenovia regarded Kinsale with narrowed eyes, but she nodded. "I apologize, Joy."

"Thank you," said Joy, and for a moment, there was uncomfortable silence as the three wicked fairies stared solemnly at their feet.

"So, we're agreed," said Kinsale. "I ask that one of you speak with Maleficent, as I feel I've already said everything I can. Ask her not to be hasty where Sara is concerned."

"I'll do it," said Joy, still to the floor. "It's less likely that I'll be followed. And I'll inform you both when I receive a response from the Queen."

"Good. Thank you for having us, Joy. Now, let's be on our way."

Upon inspection, Zenovia looked as though she might strangle Kinsale on the way out. She restrained herself, however, and the two exited in silence, leaving Joy to contemplate all of her failures alone.

In a way, Kinsale had reminded Joy of Terra just now, which was strange to think of, because she hadn't always been like that. She had always been chatty, of course, but not so long ago, she had used her people skills to manipulate and cause trouble rather than to keep the peace.

Terra had made a transition in the opposite direction. In their youth, she had been unfailingly kind, forgiving, and non-confrontational, and Joy had always believed it to be in her nature because she was somehow inherently Good. Nasty good fairy propaganda, of course, but a part of Joy still sometimes argued that Terra's transformation into the angry, troubled person she had become before her death had been the result of her association with Joy—that Joy had corrupted her natural, innate goodness. And no matter how many times she told herself that that was a lot of nonsense, Terra remained dead while Joy was alive and her fate would always be at least partially Joy's fault.

Zenovia's behavior wasn't unusual, and Joy didn't really begrudge her bringing up the subject she knew would provoke Joy to anger. It was an old wound at this point, but Joy suspected she would always feel the pain as though it were yesterday.

As she had told Fauna, not every fairy got the chance to experience love, and wicked fairies had the added impetus of having been raised never to trust or care for anyone other than themselves. By the time they even began to understand their errors, it was already too late.

* * *

"Aurora!"

"Rose..."

"How can we ever thank you?"

"She's in chains..."

"Oh, Aurora, I can't tell you—we were so worried!"

"Why is she in chains?"

"Are you all right? Is she all right?"

It was strange seeing these familiar faces crowded around her: the King and Queen, her estranged parents, Aunt Fauna, Philip… She felt as though she hadn't seen them in years—decades, even—or as though they had been part of another lifetime. Or as though they had only been part of a particularly disturbing dream.

"I recommend you keep your distance," said Zalia, the good fairy who had captured her. "She's been bewitched and taught a bit of magic—you mustn't get near her until she's been properly Chained."

Briar Rose was going to be put in the Chains of Avasina. By her immediate family, no less. She, who could not even defend herself, who could not even utilize enough magic to preserve her freedom, was going to be drained of the stuff, kept as a prisoner in her own home until she was as powerless as she had been less than a year ago, when all of this began.

"Chained?" King Stefan echoed. Rose still found it difficult to think of him as her father. "Chained, as in the way the Evil One was Chained?"

The Evil One…

_A visitor?_

_The chains around my wrists have caught your eye._

Zalia nodded in affirmation.

"Why in Heaven's name would you suggest I put my daughter in chains?"

"As I said, she has been taught magic by a wicked fairy, and she isn't…" Zalia glanced back at Rose, "…quite herself at the moment. The Chains are designed to impede and drain wicked fairy magic, and they're particularly effective on humans. She should be completely non-magical in a little under a year."

King Stefan shook his head, still uncomprehending. "She's been taught magic? But she's human! She is our child!" he gestured somewhat wildly to his wife, the Queen.

"Most humans are capable of learning wicked fairy magic, especially if they've been brainwashed. I am sorry, Your Majesty, but without the Chains, she could break even the strongest human's bones with her bare hands."

"Aurora?" Philip chimed in and Rose's heart and stomach lurched. "That's impossible. She couldn't hurt a fly—she wouldn't!"

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness," said Zalia. "You may find the princess quite different in demeanour from the last time you saw her. She has been in the company of very powerful wicked fairies."

"That fiend!" Philip snarled, and Rose wanted to snarl right back at him. This surprised her somewhat, but she found herself feeling very protective of her former protector. "What has it done to her?"

"I assure you, Your Highness," Zalia reiterated. "Aurora will be quite all right; however, she must be kept in the Chains at all times for an entire year, to be safe."

King Stefan heaved a sigh and turned to Fauna. "Mistress Fauna, do you agree that this is the best course of action?"

Fauna looked at Rose with tears in her eyes, and Rose found it somehow impossible to hate her anymore. She knew Fauna was always thinking of the best interests of everyone but herself. "It's true, Your Majesty. If Ro—if Aurora is able to use magic, especially if she learned it from Maleficent, she could cause a great deal of harm without even meaning to."

King Stefan bowed his head for a moment, turned to the Queen and whispered something, then looked right at Rose, who gazed blankly back at him. Finally, he spoke quietly, "Very well. Mistress Fauna, please retrieve the Chains of Avasina."

Fauna curtseyed and disappeared, but Rose could see her beginning to cry as she turned away. To her surprise, Queen Leah approached Zalia. She kept her distance, but she addressed Rose directly. "Aurora," she said carefully. "I prepared a coming home present for you that I hope you'll like. Fauna suggested it—it's a harpsichord. And there's plenty of music for you."

A harpsichord? Rose had never seen a real one before. She wondered for a moment why Fauna had suggested such a thing, and then she remembered that Fauna had gifted her with song at her christening. Just as she had learned to sing, she would learn to play the harpsichord with ease. She tried to ignore that this would be her distraction from her imprisonment and the fact that all those months of hard work spent agonizing over magic would be slowly ebbing with every passing minute as she wondered what would become of the wicked fairies who were on the verge of fighting vastly outnumbered in a war…while she learned to play the harpsichord.

Instead, she forced a smile. "Thank you," she said quietly. She could not quite force the word Mother from where it lodged in her throat. The Queen's smile slowly turned into a grimace and she returned to her place by King Stefan's side as Fauna returned with the Chains.

Images of Maleficent flashed through Rose's mind—Maleficent with her wild black hair and her desperate eyes and limbs that seemed to be only perfect green skin stretched over bone, and then by contrast, Maleficent with her elegant robes and her horned headdress, but strangely, with the same desperate gleam in her eyes as she cried  _Push me away._

At Zalia's suggestion, Flora and Merryweather fastened the Chains around Rose's ankles, so that she could play the harpsichord if she so chose. As she heard the cuffs of the Chains lock into place, she felt the peculiar sensation of missing something she hadn't even realized she possessed. After a moment, Zalia reached out and grabbed Rose's wrist roughly. Rose cried out in pain and Zalia let go, but her hand left a deep red print on Rose's skin.

"The Chains are doing their duty," she said simply, backing away as Philip approached.

"Aurora," he whispered with a smile, and Rose wondered whether he had always made her feel so queasy.

Rose was suddenly stricken by the notion that she had not thought much about Philip at all since the night of her escape. Months had passed wherein he had not even once crossed her mind. Now that she thought about it, it was bizarre, because after they had first met, Philip had positively consumed her thoughts, and when they were first married, she had devoted every last bit of her time and energy to him.

When Philip leaned forward to kiss her, she stumbled away from him. Just the thought of his lips upon hers was repellent. Had she always felt this way? Wasn't there a time when she loved him, or even thought she loved him enough to want him to kiss her?

What had changed?

 _Besides everything_ , she thought ruefully as Flora and Merryweather led her to her room. She supposed she'd soon have ample time for thinking about things like Philip and why everything here felt so wrong.

"What happened to her? Where did you find her?" Philip asked, following behind them.

"Mistress Zalia told us that she found Aurora while visiting Mistress Kinsale, a wicked fairy in the Kingdom of Hill and Valley," Merryweather told him.

"We had already visited Mistress Kinsale to ask if she knew anything, but  _someone_  had to make a scene."

"Don't start with me!" Merryweather snapped. "The point is, Kinsale is apparently a close friend of Maleficent's—how in Heaven's name was I supposed to know that?"

Philip seemed vaguely disturbed by this news. "You mean to tell me that there are other creatures like that beast who cursed Aurora?"

"Of course," Flora responded. "Did you think Maleficent was one of a kind?"

Rose clenched her fists, but she found that this hurt the bones in her fingers.

"Wicked fairies are a dying race, but they're around," Merryweather agreed.

"My poor Aurora," Philip said, clasping her shoulder, and even this gentle touch hurt her. She wondered what it must have been like for Maleficent when she wore these chains, bearing a near-fatal sword wound, and the thought made her even more ill than she felt already. "What did they do to you?"

_Gave me food and shelter, clothes to wear, and books to read. Treated me as their equal even though I wasn't. Taught me magic so that I might at least have a chance at saving myself from this fate._

Rose found herself in possession of a strange awareness of what her answer was supposed to be. She was supposed to tell Philip that it was awful, that the wicked fairies were the cruel, soulless monsters he imagined them to be. She should say that she was so glad to be back at home, with him, where she belonged, and that she was so sorry for all of this.

She had half a mind to tell him the truth. Zalia had already convinced everyone that Rose—or rather, Aurora—'wasn't herself.' She could say whatever she wanted now and tell the lie later. She could tell Philip that she hadn't really been living until she set eyes on Maleficent and that the decision to set her free had been the only good decision she had ever made. She could tell him that she wished she had agreed to learn more than just defensive magic, and that if she had, maybe she wouldn't be here having this pleasant little chat on the way to her gilded prison cell. She could tell him that a small, disturbingly violent part of her wished that she could break a man's bones with her bare hands, just to have as an option the next time he decided to treat her like a stupid child.

Still, something in her was begging her to play along. After all, Rose only knew of two people who had escaped from the Chains of Avasina-Maleficent and Zenovia of the Mountainlands—and they had not made it out by fighting and gnashing their teeth. They had escaped because they knew how to say exactly what their captors wanted to hear.

"It was awful, Philip," she said quietly, directing her speech at her feet, which dragged the odd-looking Chains behind them with every step. "They pretended to be kind at first, but…" she almost choked on her words, "but then they turned out to be so cruel. I hate this," she spat truthfully. "I hate that I've come home like this. Oh, Philip," she looked up into his eyes, for he had replaced Merryweather on her right side. "I am so sorry for all of this," she spoke the words she knew she must, then looked away quickly as Philip drew her against him in a painful embrace.

"Oh, Aurora, it isn't your fault. You must know that. We are so glad that you're home, safe and sound. Everything will be just as it was before, Aurora—you'll see."

 _That's what I fear most_ , Rose thought sadly. She could feel Philip's arms crushing her bones—she thought he might break them, and she didn't know how to tell him that, so she was quite relieved when he let her go and they continued their journey to the room she had once willingly shared with Philip.

* * *

Maleficent was aware that on this particular Monday around midday, Kinsale would be meeting with Joy and Zenovia. She was also aware that it was a horrible idea for her to go and visit Briar Rose, and that Briar Rose probably did not want to see her, no matter what nonsense Kinsale was spewing.

However, the alternative was spending the few hours that she knew were her window of opportunity staring despondently into her fireplace and wondering what it would take to get her to comb her hair, and Maleficent absolutely hated being so lethargic. She combed her hair and braided it instead of putting it up in her usual headdress, then assumed the form of her usual disguise-a middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and kind caramel eyes-to make the journey to Kinsale's valley.

Maleficent had never come to visit when Kinsale was not home. It was strange not to hear the usual cry of  _WHO GOES THERE?_ when she approached the high stone walls. Maleficent tried to find the source of Kinsale's protective spells, but could not. She placed a hand against the stone wall and it began to part immediately, without protest. Maleficent frowned. She'd be sending Kinsale a stern letter on the state of her security system when she was not home to enforce it.

When Maleficent opened Kinsale's front door, she nearly screamed. Everything in Kinsale's ballroom—the chandeliers and sconces, the fireplace, the tables and chairs, the teasets—had shattered into tiny pieces.

"Rose?" Maleficent called, her heart pounding in her ears. "ROSE!" But before she could even begin her frantic search, she caught sight of a note in the middle of the floor. She hoped Kinsale would forgive her for opening her mail.

_Please inform Maleficent that if she wants her pretty plaything back, she'll have to ask Mother. If she doesn't know where to find me, here's a clue._

The note was signed in Adara's handwriting. Also contained in the envelope was a seashell.

It appeared Maleficent would be making her way to the Kingdom by the Sea a bit sooner than she'd intended.


	14. The Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with implied descriptions of rape and physical violence.

Maleficent had not been to the Kingdom by the Sea since she was about nineteen years old. She'd traveled to the area at fifteen with a band of male fairies, but had parted ways with them after a young man of about twenty-five tried to steal a kiss from her. It was not the first time she had been so accosted, and it was not the last, but by that age, a mere two years since the death of her sisters, Maleficent had learned to defend herself against unwanted touch. She'd left the man's entrails strewn along the shoreline, and her traveling party wisely decided they had no interest in challenging her to a duel over the matter. She ultimately took to the sea in a modified version of her dragon form, where she remained for about four years.

Being at sea, completely alone and with a negligible likelihood of running into anyone of comparable sentience—particularly the mother she had recently promised to kill—had calmed Maleficent significantly. However, she was not completely satisfied by the notion of spending the rest of her life adrift and eventually decided to return to shore.

It was at this time in the Kingdom by the Sea that Maleficent had first encountered Mistress Sara. Though she had of course known that her middle sister's favourite book,  _The Biography of Mistress Acacia_ , had been more or less an account of true events, she found it rather bizarre to be visiting the place in which they had transpired. The Kingdom by the Sea was well into its Golden Age of Prosperity. They had celebrations every year on the anniversaries of the deaths of both Cordelia and Acacia, and they worshiped Sara like some kind of deity. Maleficent first laid eyes upon Sara when she made one of her daily appearances upon the balcony of her home and the people of the village gathered around below to wave and cheer and throw flowers.

More than a little unnerved, she'd quickly taken her leave and had never found cause to return.

As she approached the kingdom's borders, she wondered whether the time in between then and now had been worthwhile. What had she accomplished, really? Had she grown or changed at all? Perhaps she was older, more knowledgeable, more powerful, but to what end? In many ways she felt just the same as she had then: frightened, directionless, and young.

She'd made a plan, one in which she thought she could get almost everything she wanted at the lowest cost. She could ensure Rose's safety as well as the safety of the handful of other people she cared about, she could (at the very least) put a kink in Mistress Sara's plans to destroy her species, and she could put an end to her personal suffering, albeit not perhaps in the way she'd have preferred.

Evidently her plan had not been foolproof. Rose was in immediate danger, and Maleficent must finally battle her own mother to the death on the off-chance that Adara hadn't killed Rose already. Putting this circumstance, which was largely out of her control, aside, she was now in the Kingdom by the Sea without having taken any steps to ensure that her plan would be a success. Sara might easily discover her presence and have her killed with no fanfare simply for the crime of hiding, and then where would she be?

Immediately upon placing a foot over the border into the territory of the Sea Kingdom, Maleficent was aware of someone watching her. She stopped, planted her feet, and swung her staff across her body in a defensive position.

"Show yourself," she said calmly.

"I'm impressed," said a voice she did not recognize. A short distance away from her, Mistress Sara faded into view. Maleficent had never seen her so close before. She was a very beautiful woman with pale skin, chestnut hair, and the grayish-blue eyes most common in good fairies, a bit shorter than Maleficent, but with much sturdier limbs. "Then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You're well-known for your paranoia."

"Call it what you will," Maleficent responded. "I don't care for being caught by surprise."

Sara smiled. "I expect you're here to retrieve your prisoner?"

Oh.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Eastern Princess Aurora. She was your prisoner until recently, am I correct?"

Well, she supposed she ought to have seen this coming.

"You are incorrect."

Sara laughed coldly, "What, then? Your willing companion? I highly doubt that."

"Tell me, Sara, did you find her in my company or Kinsale's?"

"From what I gather, that makes little difference," said Sara pointedly.

Maleficent resisted the urge to glare. "It makes a great deal of difference," she said, maintaining her neutrality. "Kinsale is known for her bizarre fascination with humans. It's not impossible that the princess could have been her willing companion."

"But how might she have gotten there?" Sara asked, her brow furrowed.

"I wouldn't know, Mistress Sara. It's my understanding that the Kings of East and Valley are acquainted. Perhaps the princesses and fairies of the two lands are acquainted, as well."

"Is it your intention to plead innocence, Maleficent? If so, how were you even aware that the princess was in Mistress Kinsale's company?"

Maleficent chuckled, "I was not aware that I was on trial, Mistress Sara. I'm arguing a hypothetical point. Hypothetically, I would be aware that the princess was in Kinsale's company because Kinsale is my longtime friend and I visit her from time to time. In actuality, we both know that I'm aware of that fact because I was responsible for the princess's escape from the Eastern Kingdom."

"Escape?" Sara repeated darkly.

"Escape," Maleficent confirmed. "I expect it was not lost upon you that she saved me from a death sentence? Do you truly think me so vile as to repay her kindness by keeping her as my prisoner?"

"Given that I've never met such a smooth liar in all of my days, Maleficent," said Sara with another chilling grin, "I'd hesitate to trust you if you told me your own name. I've had quite enough of this senseless chatter. You're to accompany me to a little demonstration I've organized in your honour."

Maleficent's pulse quickened. Perhaps her plan was not such a lost cause after all. She wasn't certain whether she ought to feel hopeful or frightened.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll see to it that everything you purport to hold dear, which evidently extends only as far as Mistress Kinsale and the Eastern Princess, meets a slow and painful demise, and I shall see to it that you witness it."

"You can't frighten me that way, Sara," Maleficent responded calmly. "I'm no stranger to death."

Sara sneered, "And why is that? What happened the night your mother disappeared, Maleficent? Was it because of the terror you struck into her heart when you murdered your sisters?"

"Is that what she told you? My, it seems my reputation really does precede me wherever I go."

"And even after all that, now that you've become so infamously formidable, you still slithered over here as fast as you could at the promise of spilling her blood. Did it not occur to you that I've been waiting for you to show yourself, Maleficent?"

"It did," Maleficent replied. "Did it occur to you that with all of my incredible power I wouldn't need to hide?"

"Then why the scarcity, might I ask?"

"Perhaps I simply had better things to do."

Sara's eyes began to glow faintly. "You vile creature! I shan't hear you speak of the Eastern Princess as another one of your conquests!"

A mirthless bark of a laugh escaped from Maleficent's lungs. "Conquests indeed!" she spat. "If it's a duel you want, Sara, let's get on with it."

Sara's demeanour abruptly changed to one of self-satisfaction. Evidently her goal had been to get a rise out of Maleficent. "Oh no," she said smugly. "Oh, insignificant little slug that I am, I'm beneath you, Maleficent. You're going to follow me and you're going to do battle at your level."

"I think I'd rather just slit your throat and slither back into my cave of debauchery if you don't mind."

"I see you are as soulless as I've been led to believe, Maleficent," Sara replied. Her calmness was infuriating. Maleficent imagined she must be positively foaming at the mouth, but she no longer cared. "Know this: since the Chains of Avasina, like so many things, do not meet your rigorous standards, I've seen to it that a magical artefact has been fashioned especially for you."

Maleficent chuckled, "Do you think you and your precious invisible henchmen stand a chance against me?"

"Are you so foolish that you'll take the chance of one of my men being faster than you? Heed my offer: follow me now and fight or be dragged to your fate in Chains to die a coward."

Maleficent was silent for a moment. She took that moment to collect herself, steady her breathing, and think rationally. If this demonstration was what she hoped it was, her plan might work. In actuality, Maleficent could probably take out the dozen or so invisible bodyguards without being caught, and she could almost certainly best Sara—she doubted the woman had fought a proper duel in centuries. That, however, was not her intention and she must banish the thought from her mind.

"Very well," Maleficent replied at last, and Sara drew her wand to lead Maleficent into town.

If Sara had found Rose, she was still alive. Where Adara might have killed Rose just for fun, Sara would only kill her if it would serve some purpose. In all likelihood, the princess would be returned unharmed to the Eastern Kingdom, and if she was clever and efficient with what little magic she knew, Rose could escape on her own with relative ease. Presuming she wanted to, of course. Perhaps Rose had had enough of her mad adventure with wicked fairies and would be perfectly contented to live out the rest of her days as princess and wife of the handsome and gallant Prince Philip. Perhaps returning had been her intention all along. Maleficent would never know, for she had never asked.

If Maleficent followed her plan and succumbed easily to whatever awaited her, Sara would not have any credibility in a case against another wicked fairy. If she wanted to be rid of Kinsale, for example, she'd be on her own, and Maleficent was certain Kinsale could handle Sara easily in a fair fight. The two people Maleficent 'purported to hold dear' would be just fine without her, as they had been before they'd known her.

After a short walk, Maleficent caught a glimpse of the town square, just a short distance from the castle. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people—most human, many fae—had gathered around a magically enclosed area where a small formation of fairies in full armour stood. Maleficent recognized them instantly as the Mountainland Fairies.

"Quite a glittering assemblage, Mistress Sara," Maleficent remarked quietly. As they drew closer, she saw in the front of the crowd a few members of the Fairy Queen's Counsel, identifiable by their bright blue robes and hats. "May I ask upon what pretense you've called them here?"

"No pretense, Maleficent," Sara replied. "They're here to witness the abilities of the one who defied the Chains of Avasina."

"Did it occur to you, Sara, that I might have escaped the Chains using nonmagical means?"

"What in Heaven's name is that supposed to mean?"

"The princess set me free of her own volition. My only crime was a persuasive argument."

Sara chuckled, "Maleficent. You really expect me to believe that the princess whom you cursed to die was persuaded to set you free by mere words?"

Maleficent smiled to herself. "Yes, it was rather far-fetched, wasn't it?"

Sara rolled her eyes and placed her wand against her throat to amplify her voice. "Attention, people of the Sea Kingdom, honoured guests of the Fairy Queen's Counsel, and honoured guests of the Mountainlands. I bring you the infamous Maleficent."

The crowd actually booed her. Maleficent almost laughed. Sara's entire scheme rested on goading Maleficent with the threat of humiliation. As if Maleficent didn't already know she was going to die one way or another. She didn't care what these humans thought of her. She could kill them all right now if she were of half a mind and Sara and her ridiculous bodyguards wouldn't be quick enough to stop her.

"Throughout her entire life, she has been nothing but an insufferable menace to society. When she was little more than a child, she murdered her sisters in cold blood and would have done the same to her mother had she not escaped and hidden herself away—not only from her own daughter, but from her entire species, good and wicked alike! This wicked woman cursed an innocent baby girl, the princess of the faraway Kingdom of the East, to die when she reached her sixteenth birthday, for no other reason than that it was what she felt like doing one sunny day. And when her plan was foiled and she was rightfully condemned to death, confined by the legendary Chains of Avasina fashioned by our friends, the Mountainland Fairies, Maleficent had one more trick up her sleeve! She had already anticipated her failure and had trained herself to resist the power of the Chains!"

The crowd had slowly turned from comical to terrifying. People began screaming and jumping, their faces contorted in bloodthirsty rage as they threw themselves against the invisible boundaries through which Maleficent was being led. As far as they were concerned, this was justice. Perhaps Maleficent had miscalculated.

"This woman is a scourge upon the Earth! If she cannot be contained by Earthly means, she must be contained by any means necessary!"

This was for the benefit of the Fairy Queen's Counsel. Maleficent reminded herself that it was their opinion which truly mattered. An angry mob of humans could hardly decide the fate of wicked fairies.

As she approached her intended place across from the formation of Mountainland Fairies, Maleficent began to tremble. She had never gone into a battle intending to lose, and she had never gone anywhere intending to die. When she'd battled Philip, she'd been convinced she was winning until she heard that fateful Sword Incantation. When she'd been imprisoned and knew she would be sentenced to death, she'd known as soon as she saw Briar Rose's face that the princess would not allow her to die.

She doubted Sara would even allow her to die in battle. Maleficent would be defeated, beaten within an inch of her life, and then placed in the new Chains fashioned especially for her until Sara could think of a fitting way to torture her to death.

"Combatants, prepare yourselves."

Maleficent couldn't remember the last time she'd felt particularly well, and yet as she imagined what the days or perhaps even weeks to come would hold for her, she tried. She swung her staff across her body in the defensive position and she tried to imagine a single moment in her life in which she had felt anything even close to happiness.

She thought of the love, however troubled, she'd felt for her sisters. She thought of the time she'd spent with Kinsale—the time wherein she'd finally begun to understand herself and before she'd no longer been able to understand Kinsale. She thought of the relative peace she'd found in her years of solitude. She thought of Briar Rose, but all she could think of was the pain she had caused her at every turn. Still, just before one of the Mountainland Fairies fired the first shot, she dared to feel tentatively hopeful.

Perhaps, she thought as she began frantically blocking their spells, she had caused Briar Rose immeasurable pain. By all accounts, she was essentially responsible for all the misery in Rose's life. Certainly she had done what she could to make up for it, but had it been too little and too late? She would not live long enough to fully apologize or make amends.

She tried to console herself—she had given Rose an escape from her unhappy circumstances and a chance to discover herself independent of the people who had been in charge of her life up until then. She'd given her magic as a means to secure the freedom she so desperately wanted.

She tried very hard to find peace in this, but she could not quite manage it. Somehow she knew her debt to Briar Rose remained unpaid.

She missed a spell and it hit her in the shoulder, paralyzing her left arm. She dropped her staff, but quickly caught it with her other hand and continued blocking. She hadn't fired a single offensive spell of her own—she hadn't had time. She knew she couldn't surrender without appearing to put up a fight, or Sara would know she was putting on an act. Still, she honestly had not prepared for this battle even though she knew it was a possibility. She had never fought as part of a group, and she had only ever fought against groups of male fairies before. They usually lacked something in form and timing of which Maleficent could take advantage.

Maleficent ceased her philosophical musings upon the worth of her life and concentrated on the task at hand. She was quickly able to determine that they were attacking in what seemed to be a predetermined pattern, albeit a long and complicated one. Once she'd ascertained the pattern, though, she was able to anticipate and block the spell of one fairy and fire at another while she was busy preparing her attack. She took down two of the Mountainland Fairies with this method—or, at least, they retreated to the sidelines to nurse their wounds. The rest caught on and changed their pattern and formation.

There were twelve Mountainland Fairies in all, and Maleficent had temporarily defeated two of them. It was likely they'd heal themselves and join back in before the end of the battle, though. Maleficent wondered how she could possibly win in this battle. She supposed she could have caught on to their pattern sooner if she hadn't been distracted, but if she were truly more powerful than the combined magic of the Mountainland Fairies—which would have been the only way she could resist the Chains of Avasina—that would have been all it took. One spell to each of them and they'd be out. Surely the Fairy Queen's Counsel had caught on by now that Maleficent was not as devastatingly powerful as Sara would have them believe.

As another unanticipated spell hit her in the knees and she fell to the ground, the fear she thought she had banished hit her again full force. She felt herself becoming hyper-alert. She jumped back onto her feet and began genuinely fighting. She couldn't win—she knew that—but the moment she gave up, she would be submitting herself to whatever fate Sara had in store for her, until death seemed like a kindness.

As she had anticipated, the two fairies she had felled had quickly healed themselves. They reentered the battleground from behind her, and fired two spells at her back which she barely felt in time to put up a shield. The rest of the fairies followed suit, arranging themselves in an erratic circle around Maleficent. Maleficent tried to drown out the roaring of the crowd and focus solely on the sounds of the spells. She had no idea whether they were still fighting in a pattern. When she had to keep whirling around at the faintest hint of a spell coming her way, she couldn't keep track of who had fired what or whether they were still taking turns at all. She knew there would come a point when they all fired on her at once, and her shield magic was already sorely depleted. Now she could physically feel the holes burned in every shield she put up, and some spells she tried to block hit her anyway.

Another spell—or more likely, several spells—hit her in the back of the knees while she was busy blocking one aimed at her heart, and she fell to the ground once more with a screech of agony. She could not even fathom getting back up—she thought her legs might be broken. Someone fired a binding spell upon her which she quickly broke, almost like a reflex, but it didn't matter. She couldn't move, and her magic was exhausted.

She wondered whether she ought to try to take her dragon form, but quickly decided against it. She doubted anyone in the crowd knew about it, and there was no sense in continuing to fight now. She'd made her point, and now she must accept her fate. Fortunately, she was in too much pain to feel particularly frightened.

She vaguely saw the image of one of the Mountainland Fairies looming over her, a wand aimed at her throat and a foot upon her chest, holding her down as though that were necessary.

"What kind of game are you playing at?" the fairy barked.

Maleficent snarled and grasped at her staff, but she was too slow and the fairy knocked it out of her reach. "Go on," said Maleficent. "Kill me. It'll be a far more merciful fate than what Sara has in store."

"Shut up!" the good fairy barked, and Maleficent felt the sting of some unidentifiable spell against the skin of her neck. "I won't hear any of your lies."

Maleficent chuckled, but the sound came out as more of a choked cough. "Lies, lies, lies—they're all I ever tell."

She felt the weight of the fairy's foot against her chest and it only made her laugh harder.

"Yes, do break my sternum, please," she said with a pleasant smile. "And drive it right into my heart while you're at it. You can't silence me with threats of pain and death, Mistress Hilda. I've nothing left to lose."

The next thing she knew, she was being dragged onto her feet…or rather, into an upright position which she could not maintain. Her legs were almost certainly broken. Her arms, one of which still hung limp and useless at her side, were forced behind her back and her wrists were Chained. She sensed immediately that these Chains were stronger than the last ones—instead of a slow, steady draining sensation, her magic was gone instantly as she heard the click of the cuffs being fastened around her wrists.

She was dragged past the jeering crowd and the stunned Fairy Queen's Counsel, past the castle courtyard and high walls to Mistress Sara's house, a castle in its own right with an outside door which led to Sara's dungeon, or rather to a series of magically locked doors. Maleficent could not think clearly enough to count them. Three? Five? Ten? Her legs were dragging behind her at odd angles, catching on each loose stone in the floor, and the repeated jolts of pain caused her vision to blur.

As soon as they entered the actual dungeon, Maleficent felt the presence and faintly heard the rustling of dozens of other people. She was deposited in a cell where she fell in a twisted heap. She scarcely had time to drag her legs out of harm's way before the door slammed shut. She vaguely noticed that her cell was adjacent to one empty cell and one cell which contained another prisoner, a dark shape hunched against the back wall about which she could determine little else. She supposed it didn't matter much.

Mistress Sara said something to her, but she couldn't hear it over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Perhaps fate would be kind to her and she would die in this prison cell. She was bleeding quite a lot, though she hadn't really noticed it before, and she hadn't even a drop of magic in her entire body to heal her.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I said that it appears that you're not nearly as all-powerful as you like to pretend," Sara replied, sounding positively furious.

"Yes, well," Maleficent began, but she found that it was a great deal of effort to take in enough breath to speak. "I am powerful enough…for my own purposes. Whether I'm powerful enough for yours…is not my concern."

"You're a madwoman," Sara sneered. "I shall have to find a better way of dealing with you."

She and the guards who had escorted Maleficent in made a hasty exit, and the dungeon was plunged into darkness. Maleficent closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pain she felt all over her body, and eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

* * *

Briar Rose had spent the past three and a half days in bed, usually hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, always in pain.

She was permitted to occupy her old room, the one she shared with Philip, but the door was to remain locked when he was not with her. For the arduous task of containing a nearly seventeen-year-old girl, Zalia had equipped the room with a specially-enchanted lock. In addition, the doorway to the balcony was paved with stones and magically sealed, effectively rendering the space between the bottom of the door and the floor Rose's only access to daylight.

Not that Rose could reliably make her way over to the door.

The first day of her imprisonment, she'd awoken and tried to get up, but the weight upon her Chained ankles had been too much for her to bear. She'd fallen and sat alone in the middle of the floor of her bedroom until mid-afternoon when Philip had come to ask if she wanted to come to tea. He'd been understandably horrified, but after he'd carried her back to bed, for lack of anything else to do, he'd left and sent up a servant with her tea.

He returned in the evening obviously hoping to revisit the intimacy of their marriage. Rose found the idea just slightly sickening, but she acquiesced. His every touch, no matter how gentle, was impossibly painful. She felt more than once that he might snap one or more of her bones neatly in two. Fortunately, the pain distracted her from how very wrong the whole thing felt, but it wasn't overly long before Philip was snoring quietly at arm's length from her and she was left alone to contemplate her vastly altered opinion of him.

She tried to think about the way she had felt when she met Philip. At first, she could hardly remember what she'd felt like before the events of her sixteenth birthday, but she couldn't very well sleep, and perhaps a few hours past midnight, the memory began to come back to her. She'd been having a lovely day. It was her birthday, and she knew her aunts were planning some kind of surprise for her.

Rose squeezed her eyes closed—her life had been so simple in that moment.

She'd been feeling lonely, of course, but when didn't she? Her aunts still thought of her as a child who couldn't take care of herself—how was she to know that there was a reason for all of their rules about strangers? Just yesterday, they had told her that she was growing up into a young lady. Surely now that she was sixteen, her aunts would allow her to speak to someone—anyone at all!

It was so strange to think of now.

She had been in the middle of some old song or another when he'd come upon her. He'd startled her and she'd wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. Upon further consideration, she was naturally curious to see what a stranger might be like, but her initial reaction had been to heed the advice of her aunts. They'd told her all her life that she mustn't speak to strangers because they could be dangerous. She didn't want to get into trouble with her aunts and she certainly didn't want to get into trouble she couldn't even fathom.

But the young man had persisted, and something about him had captivated her, causing curiosity to win out. And then everything became very hazy. She remembered feeling as though the boy in the woods was the center of her world, as though her entire life had led to that moment. She remembered trying to run away, to clear her head of him, and being unable to, and she remembered how the feeling had persisted—a dizzying, bubbly sort of feeling—until her aunts had told her the truth about who she was and her world, with the handsome stranger at its center, had begun to collapse.

Ever since she had awoken, she had tried very hard to recapture the feeling she'd had when she first met Philip, and she'd found it impossible to do so. The more time she spent with him, the more she couldn't help but think how ill-suited they were for one another. This was her True Love, the man who had broken her curse and saved her from a hundred years of slumber? They could barely hold a conversation! When she tried to remember their time together in the woods, she realized they hadn't spoken but a few words. He'd sung along with her little tune, they'd danced, and then she'd run away. She'd expected that they'd have a chat that night in the cottage, supervised by her aunts so that she did not feel so fearful, out alone with a stranger when her aunts didn't know where she was. She'd imagined that the powerful infatuation she felt for him must be rooted in something, and that she'd find out what that something was when she talked to him a bit more.

Rose now tried to recall a conversation she'd had with Maleficent many months ago in which she'd spoken of the magical gifts the good fairies had bestowed upon her at her christening. The mere thought of Maleficent's name caused her stomach to twist painfully as Rose realized she might never see her again.

"What if Flora hadn't given me the gift of beauty?" she'd wondered. "What would I look like?"

"Much the same, I'm sure," Maleficent had responded in her usual tone—clipped, aloof, yet unable to disguise the inherent resonance and beauty of her voice. Rose missed hearing it. She missed the way she could almost feel every word Maleficent spoke. She tried to think of what Maleficent had said next, but found that her memory was woefully limited. Maleficent's voice in her mind did not even begin do justice to the way it had sounded in reality.

"What Flora gave you," she'd said, "was a certain magical quality about your beauty which draws people to you… If you were of a mind, you could learn to use that magic to ensnare the heart of anyone you pleased. I daresay Philip has used his handsomeness to that effect."

"Did he use it on me?"

"Most likely."

Rose remembered feeling devastated. She felt as though her entire life had been a mere side effect of the magic of others. She felt victimized by it. She wanted it out of her life forever. Depressing as she knew it would be, she wanted to know exactly how little she'd be left with if her life were completely devoid of magic.

Maleficent had said something else about Philip and his magical beauty. "…after a point it would become useless on you as you share the same magic. It's doubtful you were under the influence for very long."

Only long enough to ensure that her life continued to be dictated by magic, it seemed. What if she hadn't met Philip in the woods that day? What if she'd even met some other handsome stranger who was not equipped with any magical abilities? Would she have been doomed to her cursed slumber forever simply because she hadn't been afforded the opportunity to fall under some kind of magical false love spell for the duration of the evening? Had she been saved from Maleficent's curse by a mere delusion?

For the next three and a half days, Rose did not bother to leave her bed. Philip came to her in the evenings, and they had the exact same conversation three times.

"How I have missed you, my Aurora," he whispered into her ear, his hands already roaming along the sides of her body.

"Philip…the Chains, they…they make everything hurt very badly."

"I promise I shall be gentle, my love."

"But even the gentlest touch hurts me."

"Then I shall be even gentler than that."

For the first two nights, she could not bring herself to say the word 'no' out loud. She feared it would be pointless, or it would upset him. She doubted Philip had ever heard the word in his entire life. Philip was far bigger and stronger than she, and if he were even the slightest bit forceful with her, he would likely break her.

On the third night, however, when she felt the dull ache of his hand running lightly over her breasts, she breathed, "Philip, please…stop."

To his credit, he stopped. "What is it, my love?"

"I know you're trying to be gentle," she whispered, "but…but it hurts so badly."

"I am so sorry, my Aurora—I shall try harder."

She lifted her arms, which felt impossibly heavy even though she could now clearly see the bones in her wrists, and tried to physically push Philip's hand away. Though she did not succeed, he understood her intention.

"Aurora," he said sternly. "Why are you trying to push me away?"

Rose was close to tears, which made breathing a challenge. "Philip, I've told you—I can't do this—it hurts too badly!"

"What would you have me do, Aurora?" he asked. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position, ignoring her whimper of pain. "Take off your Chains so that you might break my bones with your carelessness?"

"Phillip," she wheezed. "Philip, if you don't—stop, you'll—break every—bone in my body!"

"Aurora," he said, clearly exerting a great deal of effort to remain calm, as though she were a child who did not understand that it had misbehaved. Rose began to cry. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Rose could not respond—she could scarcely breathe.

"You've been held captive by that vile creature for almost a year, Aurora. Do you even realize how long it has been?"

Rose tried desperately to catch her breath, but this new reminder of her dreadful circumstances caused a fresh wave of misery to hit her, and she cried even harder. She missed Kinsale, who had been the first person to hold her when she cried in years. And as always, she missed Maleficent, "that vile creature" who had taught her that she was allowed not to want this, that she was allowed to think and feel whatever she wanted, and who, though she was obviously deeply uncomfortable, had done her best to comfort Rose in her moments of emotional overload.

"I have missed you terribly, my Aurora," Philip was saying.

 _So what?_  Rose thought venomously. Who  _cares? Aurora doesn't exist. Aurora is a delusion._

"I have missed my wife."

And that meant she had to subject herself to this? He had missed his wife, a veritable figment of his imagination, so she had to spend the next few minutes wondering whether he would accidentally snap her in two, all the while despising how physically close she must be to someone she was quickly growing to despise?

 _Fine,_  she thought.  _Do what you must and then leave me be_.

But that wasn't what she said. She reminded herself that Maleficent might very well have despised Rose when they first met. She must have hated the power Rose held over her. She might have wanted to scream at her, or say every horribly mean thing that came to mind until Rose felt a fraction of the pain inflicted upon Maleficent by these wretched shackles. For all Rose knew, Maleficent had never stopped despising her for the duration of their time together, and how could she blame her, really? Nevertheless, she had said what she had to say, promised what she had to promise, to get out of these very Chains. And Rose would try her best to do the same.

"I know, Philip," she said finally when she'd gained control of her breathing. "I'm so sorry."

Philip shook his head, as if to say,  _What shall I do with you?_  and pushed her gently back down onto the bed. Rose already ached all over—she hardly even minded. At one point, he grasped her wrists tightly and Rose dared to murmur a quiet plea for gentleness, but it was too little and too late. She heard the snap of a bone in her wrist breaking before she felt the pain, and she bit the inside of her mouth until it bled to keep from screaming.

She passed out from the pain before Philip had finished. When she awoke sometime the next day she was alone and her wrist was still very much broken.

At this point, she exerted the necessary effort to sit up, which was very difficult without the use of her right hand, and somehow managed to get herself up onto her feet. Putting pressure on her ankles still hurt her immensely, but when compared to the shooting pain in her wrist, the pain in her ankles was bearable.

Rose shuffled over to the door to find that it was indeed locked. She rang the bell and a few minutes later, one of the servants—a middle-aged woman with blonde hair whose name was Madeleine—appeared.

"I want to speak with Mistress Fauna," she said.

"I'll send her up, Your Highness."

"Can't I just go and see her?"

Madeleine bowed her head, "Apologies, Your Highness, but you're not permitted to leave your room. Prince Philip's orders."

Rose heaved a deep sigh. She was in too much pain to feel anything other than exhaustion. When Madeleine left to retrieve Fauna, Rose dragged her feet back to her bed and sat. It still took a great deal of effort to remain upright, but she managed until she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," she rasped.

She heard the click of a lock and then Fauna appeared. She promptly burst into tears. "Oh, Rose!" She rushed forward and grasped Rose's arms. Rose cried out and she let go and backed away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "My wrist is broken."

"Oh, Rose…" Fauna breathed. She drew her wand. Rose held out her injured wrist and Fauna muttered a healing spell, but nothing happened. If anything, the pain worsened. Rose winced and withdrew her hand.

Fauna began to cry again, and Rose actually had to calm her down before she could speak. "The Chains," she managed at last. "No magic."

Instead, Fauna conjured a bandage and did her best to wrap Rose's wrist by hand, without using any magic. Rose wasn't certain whether it would help, but it made her feel a bit better to have the injury protected somehow. She noticed as she gazed at the bandage that she had large purple bruises all over her arms.

"I don't suppose you'd consider taking off the Chains so you can heal me," Rose murmured.

Fauna sighed tearfully and conjured a handkerchief for herself. "If I did, you'd run away."

Rose barely suppressed a grimace. "Can you blame me?"

Fauna's lower lip trembled and she shook her head.

"What would become of you if I ran away on your watch?"

Fauna shook her head again and covered her face with her handkerchief. Rose knew the answer. She'd be banished at best. At worst, she'd be burnt at the stake the way Maleficent would have been if Rose hadn't set her free.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Fauna," she said quietly, using the endearment  _aunt_  for the first time since her sixteenth birthday. This caused Fauna to emerge from behind her handkerchief. "Let's talk about something else. Did you visit any exciting places when you were searching for me?"

Fauna looked at her hesitantly, and Rose patted the bed next to her. Fauna still looked like she might cry again, but she sat next to Rose nonetheless.

"We visited the Kingdom of Hill and Valley," she said quietly.

"What is Mistress Felicity like?" asked Rose.

"I…well, she…" Fauna kept glancing up at her and then looking away, but she eventually continued the conversation. "She's very intimidating. And so are most of her friends, really."

Rose tried to think of something else innocuous to ask, but anything she could possibly say was a potential for disaster. She decided to ignore the fear and attempt to have a normal conversation in spite of her abnormal circumstances, the way she had been doing for nearly a year. "What about Mistress Kinsale? How did you find her?"

Fauna didn't say anything for a long time. Eventually, she said, "Well, you know…she was very polite until Merryweather started yelling at her. I don't blame Merryweather, of course. She got very upset because she thought Mistress Kinsale knew where you were and wasn't telling us. At the same time, I don't really blame Mistress Kinsale, either. She seemed…very pleasant…for a wicked fairy."

Another moment of silence passed, and then Fauna spoke again. "How did you come to be in her house, Rose? I…we all sort of thought…Maleficent was keeping you…locked up somewhere."

Rose shook her head, suddenly feeling very melancholy. She found that she didn't want to try to explain. She was tired of lying, and the truth was apparently impossible for anyone to understand. "No," she said softly, half-consciously cradling her injured arm against her chest. "It wasn't like that at all."

"Rose," Fauna whispered tremulously. "I feel you ought to know something."

Again, Rose almost smiled, but the muscles in her face were not up to the task. "I feel I ought to know a lot of things," she replied without thinking. "I'm sorry—" she quickly amended in response to Fauna's look of something between confusion and horror. "It was meant to be a—a joke, I suppose…"

"Rose," Fauna said again, her brow furrowed in concern. She reached out a hand in comfort, but thought better of touching Rose and simply left her hand hanging in midair between them. "Maleficent has been captured."

Rose suddenly found it impossible to breathe. "What?" she choked out.

Fauna nodded, clutching her handkerchief. "I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I…I just…I felt you ought to know."

Rose clutched her stomach with her good hand and heaved a breath. "By whom?" she wheezed. "Wh-where is she?"

Fauna bit her lip for a moment before she replied. "In the Kingdom by the Sea," she said, and Rose nearly screamed.

"In the—Kingdom by—the Sea?" she cried. She had begun to hyperventilate, and she felt as though her lungs were going to explode. "M-m-mistress Sara has her? A-aunt Fauna—Aunt Fauna, please—you—you have to—understand—she, she isn't—she doesn't—"

Fauna was patting her back ineffectually, shaking her head. "Shh, Rose, it's all right."

"NO!" Rose shrieked. "No, it isn't all right, no, no, no!"

"Rose, listen to me!" Fauna cried. She jumped off of the bed and stood in front of Rose, grasping her by the shoulders. "I know it's difficult for you to believe right now, but she used you! She used you to escape and then she kidnapped you! You were her prisoner!"

"No, no, no!" Rose could not gain enough control of herself to say what she needed to say. "Aunt Fauna, no, listen to me—she didn't—"

"I know what you think," Fauna cut her off, her voice firmer and more certain than Rose had ever heard it. "I know how it feels to care for someone who can't possibly care for you, but she can't, Rose! No matter what she did, no matter what she said, it was a lie! Maleficent is the best liar I've ever met!"

"No…" Rose whispered. Her voice was almost completely gone. "No, Aunt Fauna, she…"

Fauna squeezed Rose's shoulders, "I beg of you, for your own good, forget her. Forget you ever knew her. Put all of this behind you at last. Pour all of that devotion you have in your heart into your relationship with your husband, where it belongs!"

Rose shook her head violently. "Philip," she rasped venomously, "has never treated me…with a fraction of the decency that Maleficent did. And now," she sniffled and wiped haphazardly at her face with her good hand, "she's going to be…put to death…and he's going to…come back here to me tonight…and probably break my other arm!"

"Rose, don't think that way! I'm sure Philip is trying!"

"And Maleficent is what? Rotting away in a dungeon somewhere." Rose ran her hand through her hair. An alarming chunk of it fell out easily.

"Rose, you're not making it easy—"

"Easy!" Rose screeched, her voice cracking. She shook her hands in Fauna's face—one broken and bandaged, one with a fistful of her hair. "Does this look  _easy_  to you?"

"Stop this!"

"It should be me! I should be dying! Death would be a mercy compared to this!"

"Rose!" Fauna cried, shocked. "Listen to yourself!"

Rose paused and tried to regain some control of herself. She lowered her arms, letting the handful of her hair fall to the floor, and took a deep breath. "Aunt Fauna, please," she said, looking up at her aunt's terrified expression. "Maybe it is stupid of me to care for her, but I do." She felt tears streaming down her cheeks once more. "I do. I can't help it."

Fauna reached out tentatively and patted her hand. "Oh, dear…" she whispered. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but she closed her mouth and thought for another moment. "You've got to try to understand," she said at last, "there's nothing to be done for her now."

Rose let out a painful sob. "That's a lie."

"Rose!"

"There's plenty to be done. You could go there right now and set her free if you were of a mind. You could set me free and I could—"

"Rose, do you honestly believe that would be wise?"

"I don't care!"

"Heaven above," Fauna murmured. "What has she done to you?"

Rose's head snapped up to look at Fauna. "What has she  _done_  to me?" she repeated.

"Rose, dear…" Fauna held up both hands, part comfort, part defense. "Rose, whatever she did to you, you must try to understand…it wasn't natural. It wasn't right. And it wasn't your fault! But you've got to—"

"Get out!" Rose shrieked, scrambling away from Fauna.

"Rose…"

"Get away from me! Get out of here!" Rose had begun to hyperventilate again. She accidentally put pressure on the hand of her broken arm and fell helplessly back against the bed.

"Rose, you've got to listen to me!"

"If you—th-think—that the only—reason I'm upset—" Rose heaved "is because she some-somehow—bewitched or…or seduced me or something," Rose shook her head. She could no longer see Fauna through the tears welling in her eyes. "I won't speak with you anymore! Get out!"

"But I—"

"GET OUT!"

Not an hour later, Flora came to see her. Flora spent the better part of the afternoon lecturing Rose on something. Duty, propriety, her 'unnatural affection' for the dangerous wicked fairy, Rose barely heard any of it. She lay despondently in a heap upon her bed cradling her bandaged wrist, wondering why no one had bothered to send for a doctor and refusing to speak to or even look at Flora.

Rose wanted to die. She did not want to live in a world where she was kept prisoner by people she despised and the people she cared about were somehow made out to be the villains. She did not want to live in a world where she was beaten and bruised and her wrist was broken, and yet she was still expected to submit to whatever it was her husband wanted of her that day.

Most of all, she did not want to live in a world without Maleficent. Even if Rose never saw her again, knowing that she was alive and well and that she simply existed somewhere in the world would have been enough reason for her to go on living this way until she was finally stripped of what little magic she possessed. Perhaps in a year, when her Chains were removed, she could have tried to locate Maleficent again, simply to find out what she was doing, to find out where she was, to know that somewhere the possibility of seeing her ever again still existed.

Then again, she supposed the possibility of seeing Maleficent had been denied her by the woman, herself, and there was really no arguing with that. What could she possibly offer someone like Maleficent? At best during her time with Maleficent, she had been nothing more than an irritating liability.

That night when Philip crawled into bed beside her, she barely even bothered to speak to him. He did not seem to mind. He didn't even ask about her bandaged wrist. She wondered what it must be like inside his head to be able to blithely overlook whatever didn't fit into his understanding of the world around him. She wondered if he attributed the injury to one of those vile wicked fairies who had held her captive for nearly a year and thought he simply hadn't noticed it before. She wondered if deep down he knew that that was not the case and so did not bother to ask for fear of hearing the truth spoken aloud. Then she wondered if he simply didn't care that much.

Perhaps this was what Fauna meant about making it easy for him. Perhaps she was meant to lay here only half-conscious and allow whoever to do whatever he pleased with her without so much as a word for as long as she lived.

Sometime the next day, Rose decided she would make her way over to the harpsichord that had been placed in the corner of the room. She sat at the bench and grabbed the first piece of music in the pile. It was an old folk song called Oh Danny Boy. Rose knew the words and the tune well—most people did. She had never read music notes before, but she doubted it would be very hard to learn.

She propped the music on the stand of the harpsichord and stared at the keyboard. Eventually, she chose a random key somewhere in the middle of the keyboard and played it, then hummed the note back to herself.

She tried to think of how the tune went based on that note, but she couldn't. She played the note again—or was it another note?—and hummed it back to herself. She sang the first word, "Oh," on her chosen pitch.

And of course she knew the next word, but she hadn't even a vague idea of what the next pitch should sound like. She tried to find the note she had hit just a second ago so that she had a point of reference from whence to find the next pitch, but she couldn't remember what it was, and after she had heard several different pitches, she could no longer remember the one she was searching for.

She knew the words. She could speak them aloud by heart. The music notes went up, and she knew that ought to mean something to her, but it didn't.

She hit the note again…or was it a different one? Had they all been the same note? Had they all been different? Had any two been the same? She couldn't remember.

For several hours, Rose kept choosing a note, singing "Oh, Da—", trying to find the note she had just hit or the one for "Da", failing, and starting over. Finally Rose placed the music back on top of the harpsichord and took up another song. "The Gallant Weaver," another tune she knew by heart.

Where Cart rins flow into the sea,  
By many a flower and shading tree,  
There lives a lad, the lad for me;  
He is a gallant weaver.

She placed the music on the stand and then looked carefully at the keyboard before she chose her starting note.

"Where…" she sang softly to herself. "Where Cart…" But no, that was the same note. She it the first note again—she was sure of it because she'd kept her finger on it. "Where Cart…where…where…where Cart rins…where…where…"

Rose threw the music to the ground and grabbed another song.

"The pale moon was…rising…the pale moon…"

She tossed this song aside and grabbed another.

"A dream is a wish….a dream…is a…a dream…"

Another.

"Oh, my love is…my love is like…oh, my love…"

And another.

"I know you, I walked…I know…I know you…I…"

And still another.

"Art thou troubled? Music….art thou…music will calm… Art thou troubled…art thou…"

_I wish it all away._

Her words sprang suddenly into her mind to mock her.

_I wish away my beauty and my voice and Merryweather's spell and your curse._

Rose began to cry. She continued to hit random keys on the harpsichord, humming them back, hoping that one might catch in her mind, that she might remember any song at all.

But she knew she wouldn't. Her musical ability was a magical gift given to her by Fauna. Without magic, she would never remember a single tune.

_There is nothing extraordinary about me that was not given to me by magic…_

… _and so I wish it all away._


	15. The Horseman

Kinsale returned home from her meeting with Joy and Zenovia to find Princess Aurora missing and all of her worldly possessions shattered into pieces.

Unfortunately, there were several possible explanations for each of these mysteries, and none seemed more obvious than the other.

Aurora could have left of her own free will to see Maleficent, she could have left of her own free will to return to the Eastern Kingdom, or she could have left of her own free will to go anywhere but squarely in the middle of the coming war. She also could have been forcibly taken by Maleficent (though Kinsale hated to think her friend capable of such a thing), forcibly taken back to the Eastern Kingdom, forcibly taken to the Sea Kingdom, or forcibly taken somewhere else to be hidden.

The shattered glass and furniture certainly lent themselves to  _forcibly taken_ —and away from Maleficent as the culprit, for even in the foulest of moods Maleficent found it unseemly to destroy the possessions of others—but there was always the chance that Aurora had left and then Sara's henchmen had come for Kinsale and, made furious by not finding her, left the shattered items as a fear-mongering notice that they would come again. It was not impossible that Aurora, herself, had been responsible, or at least had not objected, though that seemed the least likely of the available possibilities.

Her first instinct was to visit Maleficent, but it was very likely that she or her mail would be tracked there, and everyone involved in this whole mess needed as much time as possible without Kinsale leading Sara to Maleficent's doorstep. Joy wouldn't know anything until tomorrow, at least, and Zenovia was even more likely to be tracked than Kinsale. She supposed she could pay a visit to the Eastern or Sea Kingdoms, but each seemed likely to end in disaster, and what if Aurora had left of her free will to get away from all of this? There were certainly times Kinsale would have liked to do just that.

Kinsale waited anxiously for any news at all for several days. She divided this time between repairing her furniture and staring restlessly at the pile of invitations she and Aurora had addressed to every wicked fairy Kinsale had ever heard of. If she sent them now and her mail was tracked, then she would lose the advantage she'd been aiming for. Instead of sending a force prepared to handle only Kinsale, Sara would send a force prepared to handle however many fairies Kinsale could drum up. Sara had that kind of power. The only way to put a dent in her plans was to outmaneuver her, and Kinsale was no master schemer. Maleficent and Zenovia, in addition to impressive magical power and refined duelling technique, could outmaneuver anyone. They could win even when it seemed they had lost. Joy had an intricate knowledge of good fairy psychology and of the Fairy Queen's court. Aurora would have had the greatest element of surprise ever fathomed at her disposal.

And Kinsale? Kinsale had a modest sum of magical power and a lot of casual acquaintances. Without the powerful fairies she'd spent the better part of her life documenting, Kinsale was left feeling rather useless.

After a week of restless waiting and no news, Kinsale returned to Joy's home in the Desert Lands. She found the front door unlocked and the floor just over the threshold marked with Sara's signature blue "X." Joy had been captured.

Kinsale began to panic. What did this mean in terms of her own mystery? Nothing. Not a damned thing. She searched Joy's house, carelessly throwing things about in an effort to find anything of substance. Had Joy been able to visit Maleficent? Had Maleficent been captured along with her?

She found no evidence which would suggest or refute either of these things. The things she found that seemed out of place in one of Joy's study rooms only confused her further: a half-empty bottle of Truth Serum and a royal family's crest.

For lack of anything better to do, Kinsale sat at Joy's writing desk to examine the crest. By itself it would have simply been odd, but the crest had been magically embroidered, and the embroidery was recent and sloppy. The crest's design was that of the cross, a symbol of a Christian nation, which did not narrow down the options by very much. The emblem was some kind of bird Kinsale vaguely recognized, but more telling was the sun embroidered behind the bird. This was the emblem of the Land of the Rising Sun, the Kingdom of the East.

The only remaining mystery—and the one which seemed like it must hold the answers Kinsale needed-lay in the colours. The emblem was embroidered in gold on a green piece of fabric. The Eastern Kingdom's colours were gold on blue.

Kinsale tried to think of any possible significance of green in place of blue. The obvious answer—the skin tone of a wicked fairy—yielded no useful information. She tried to think of some significance in nature or symbolism and could think of none. Green as a crest colour mostly stood for hope or loyalty, neither of which were helpful on their own as compared to blue for pride, victory, purity, or strength. Green in nature could mean the forests or the fields between the kingdoms, but that wasn't particularly telling, either. Kinsale couldn't remember the colours of the Northern, Western, or former Southern Kingdoms, but she doubted that would be of any significance.

Finally, the answer hit her, and it seemed so glaringly obvious that she was surprised it hadn't occurred to her immediately.

"Fauna," she murmured aloud.

The middle sister, the quiet little fairy who didn't like to speak up, who seemed the most uncomfortable with her sisters' proceedings…she wore green.

And Joy believed she might help.

This didn't answer the vast majority of Kinsale's questions, but it was certainly a place to start, and a fair amount more than she'd had a moment ago.

Kinsale wasted no time in transporting herself to Felicity's doorstep. Her younger sister and obsequious yes-man, Charity, answered the door.

"Kinsale! What a…what a surprise! Let me just…fetch Felicity. Would you, ah…would you like to come in…?"

"Hello, Charity. I'm really only looking for the Eastern Good Fairies. Are they in?"

"Oh, they…haven't you heard?"

Kinsale smiled, a meticulously well-practiced alternative to rolling her eyes. "Evidently not."

"Zalia came and took them away, because she had received word of the Eastern Princess's location."

Kinsale tilted her head and cleared her throat quietly, a well-practiced alternative to cursing Zalia's name, hunting her down, and eviscerating her. "Who found her? And where?"

"She wouldn't say," Charity replied with a shrug. "Must have been wherever Maleficent was hiding, too, though, 'cause Mistress Sara held some big demonstration a few days ago to celebrate her capture."

"Maleficent's capture?"

"Mhm. "

"I see." Kinsale swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the sound of her heart beating in her ears. "And what of the Princess? Was she returned safely to the Eastern Kingdom?"

Charity nodded. "The word is that she isn't doing very well. Not surprising, but what a shame, isn't it?"

"What a shame."

"And who'd have thought Maleficent was so twisted? Did you know she killed her own sisters when she was just a kid?"

"You don't say. Listen, Charity, I don't mean to be rude, but I have other business to attend to now that the matter of the princess has been cleared up. Thank you for your time. Give Felicity my regards."

Kinsale did not wait for a response before she disappeared.

* * *

_Taken to Sea Kingdom. Your interference would be most helpful._

_J_

Fauna supposed she shouldn't be so surprised. She had gone to great lengths to seek out Joy in hopes of realigning herself in the coming war. She knew then that things weren't nearly as simple as she wanted them to be.

She fed the blackbird who carried Joy's message a few bread crumbs and then sent him on his way. The Desert Lands were quite a distance from the Eastern Kingdom—Joy had probably been captured a week ago by now.

And of course Fauna had to go and set Joy free. She owed Joy that favour no matter what else had happened in her life. That wasn't the issue at all. What Fauna dreaded was the presence of another wicked fairy Fauna knew to be kept in the Sea Kingdom, one to whom she owed nothing.

The surprising part, she supposed, was that, far more than Maleficent's presence, Fauna dreaded her absence.

Fauna knew that Rose had been taken for a fool. There was no other explanation for her addled behaviour. She didn't know how Maleficent had done it, for Maleficent had a thousand ways of accomplishing the simplest of tasks, but one way or another, Maleficent had won little Rose's allegiance…so completely that Rose raved that she should be the one to die instead. That was madness. Clearly Rose was not in her right mind where Maleficent was concerned.

Still, even as certain of this as she was, or as she wanted to be, Fauna was not certain at all that she could look Rose in the eyes if she knew for a fact that Maleficent was dead. Rose had all but begged Fauna to go and set her free, even if Fauna would not set Rose free. Fauna found this deeply unsettling.

"Fauna?"

"Oh!" Fauna exclaimed, whirling around as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn't. "Oh," she repeated, feeling suddenly rather tired. "Hello, Merryweather."

Merryweather stood awkwardly in the doorway to Fauna's room, wringing her hands.

"Did you want something?" Fauna asked.

"I…" Merryweather began, but then bit her lip and considered for another moment. "Why did you leave, Fauna?"

"King Stefan summoned one of us, and I thought—"

"No, no, no, I know what your stupid note said," Merryweather snapped, waving her hands erratically. "Why did you really leave?"

It was Fauna's turn to avert her eyes. It had been a long time since Fauna had thought of Merryweather as her baby sister—centuries had that effect, she supposed—and yet, seeing Merryweather look at her this way, as though she had committed some heinous act of betrayal (when she didn't even know the half of it), reminded Fauna keenly of the fact.

"I wasn't of any use to you or to Felicity—you know that," Fauna said quietly.

"But Fauna! You know how Flora gets! I needed you!"

"Needed me," Fauna echoed sadly. "Needed me to agree with you?"

"Well…yes!" Merryweather responded, exasperated. "If it's just me, Flora will never listen."

"And if it's just Flora, you'll never listen," said Fauna.

Merryweather looked as though she had been stricken. "I thought we were on the same side," she said after a moment.

These words made Fauna cringe. The same side of what, she wondered?

"We're all on the same side, Merryweather," she responded. "You and I  _and_  Flora."

"You know what I mean," said Merryweather, sounding close to tears.

She did, and yet Merryweather's long-standing sibling rivalry with Flora seemed a rather trivial thing when compared to the myriad of other opposing Sides Fauna found herself debating. It occurred to Fauna that she had never been on anyone's side, because she had always been on everyone's side.

She found herself wondering whether Joy had any sisters, something which had never crossed her mind before. She had heard horrifying stories about wicked fairy families, and Joy had in their first meeting essentially confirmed them, saying in an offhand way that if she had misbehaved as a child her mother would have hexed her.

Far worse than thoughts of Joy were those of Maleficent. Did the looming, horned shadow with the thin, scowling face have a looming, horned, thin, scowling family somewhere? How would they feel when they learned that Maleficent had been put to death?

"I'm sorry, Merryweather," said Fauna at last. "I think it's time I'm…" she swallowed, "…on my own side…for a little while."

"What does that even mean?" Merryweather's natural defense was to snap to anger, and it was completely justified. Merryweather knew that Fauna was lying to her. "I don't know you anymore!"

"Well, that's…" Fauna could not bring herself to look at Merryweather anymore. She focused instead on summoning her travel satchel and cloak. "That's the issue, dear. I don't know myself, either."

"What is this?" Merryweather cried, growing frantic. "Where are you going now? Where are you running off to now?"

Fauna bit her lip as she finished summoning her things. "Running an errand for the King," she replied. It was a half-truth. The King wanted to ensure that Maleficent was truly burnt at the stake as Sara had promised. "I'll be back in a week or so." That was probably a lie. She doubted that Joy's request for help ended at setting her free.

Finally she gathered the courage to look into Merryweather's tear-filled eyes. "If you've already left by then, well…" she reached out and squeezed Merryweather's hand, "Take care of yourself, baby sister."

Fauna had not been to the Sea Kingdom since she was a young girl. Not so long ago, she had been looking forward to the day when she might return there, to revisit the bittersweet memories of her youth which she had left buried in the shoreline. Now she feared that any happy memories she had of the place would be forever drowned in the horror she knew awaited her.

* * *

"Maleficent."

It had been one hundred and seventeen years since she had heard that voice, and yet it drew her out of her half-slumber instantly.

"Mother," she replied before she could muster the strength to open her eyes. "What a coincidence."

She knew she'd barely be able to see anything even when she did manage to open her eyes. There were a few sconces still burning in Sara's dungeon, but they were nowhere near Maleficent's cell.

"A very favourable one for Mistress Sara, to be sure," Adara replied. Maleficent could not even fathom the idea of moving. She lay just as she had when she had fallen asleep: on her side, in a twisted heap with her broken legs at odd angles against her body. She could tell from the direction of her mother's voice that Adara was the prisoner in the cell next to hers. "You've made quite a name for yourself, Maleficent."

"Have I?" Maleficent asked idly. She noticed now that her cell was very small. Her feet were pressed against the corner of the cell and she was positive she wouldn't even be able to sit up on her knees if she tried. "It seems I've mostly only received credit for the acts of others. The murder of my sisters, for example."

"Well, that was your fault, really. If you hadn't threatened my power at such a young age, I wouldn't have had cause to kill them."

Maleficent suddenly felt ill. The statement was absurd and she knew it, and yet it took a great deal of self-control not to retch—she did not want to spend the remainder of her existence lying in her own vomit. "What a relief to learn that you've absolved yourself of blame before the hour of your death," she said instead.

"What a relief to learn that you are still an overgrown child who talks back to her mother," Adara said with a breathy little laugh. "What makes you think the good fairies are going to kill me after I've already proven so useful?"

"Tell me, Mother, what other useful information did you glean from your century underground?"

"Insolent girl," said Adara evenly. "I should have drowned you when you were a baby."

"It would have saved us both a great deal of trouble, to be sure," Maleficent replied. "Where have you been hiding all these years? Every fairy I've ever met believed you to be dead."

"Paranoid, were we?" Adara asked coyly.

"Only curious. I bested you once and I could have done it again."

"I suppose that's true. Then again, did you really want to murder your own mother? I always thought you had a heart."

Maleficent chuckled mirthlessly. "That makes you the only one."

A moment of silence passed and finally, Adara spoke again. "A decade or more after you banished me, I came upon a land where no fairies dwelled. I learned to disguise myself as a human and I lived among them until a fairy showed up and found me out."

Maleficent narrowly avoided laughing. What an absurd notion! "Humans? How dreadful."

"This coming from the deviant who found a human princess acceptable company."

"What can I say? My standards for who is permitted to save my life are relatively low."

"You know very well what I meant."

"Yes, I do. Your allegations are neither clever nor original."

"And yet, for all of your bravado, have you ever known a man's touch?"

Again, Maleficent felt the urge to vomit. Faintly, she could hear the sound of a door opening, followed by another—someone was coming to the dungeon. "Yes, as a matter of fact. And I eviscerated him for his troubles."

"My, my," said Adara, clearly enjoying herself. "You know, I am glad we could have this little chat, Maleficent. I've often wondered over the past few months whether you were indeed the depraved monster these fairies believe you to be. I admit I never expected to agree with them."

The final door creaked open and harsh sunlight streamed into the dungeon, illuminating the faces of the dozens of wicked fairies held there. Maleficent twisted her body around and squinted so that she might see her mother's face. It was bruised and beaten and a strange shade of grey. Adara did not look at her—her eyes were squeezed shut against the light. Though her eyes burned for her efforts, Maleficent turned in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the entrants.

Maleficent easily made out green skin and chains—no surprise there. Sara's goon tossed the wicked fairy into the empty cell on Maleficent's left, then turned toward Maleficent.

Maleficent's heart skipped a beat and then returned at double its usual speed. She swallowed the lump in her throat and awaited the inevitable, but the guard walked past her and opened Adara's cell instead. She could see the shadow of Adara stumbling out of the cell and onto her feet, her posture hunched, her frame no more than frightening grey skin stretched over her bones.

"Lady Adara of the Dragon Country," said the guard. She must be young—Adara was clearly powerless and yet the guard's voice betrayed her fear. "You've been sentenced to…to death without a t-trial."

"Death?" Adara shrieked. "DEATH! You can't kill me! Think of all the information you'll lose! Think of all I could tell you!"

The guard began pulling Adara toward the door by her Chains. Adara dug her heels into the floor, but the only result was that she left the dungeon on her knees.

"I will not stand for this, do you hear me? You can't get away with this! You've no idea of what I'm capable! Unhand me! Let me go at once! Let me go, or I shall…"

As each dungeon door slammed shut behind her, her words melted into unintelligible screams.

Maleficent wondered when the same sentence would befall her. When death was upon her, would she, too, be dragged to her fate screaming for mercy? Perhaps not today, but what of tomorrow? What of a week from now? Would she have already lost control of her mind by then?

* * *

Just beyond the border between the Eastern Kingdom and the Hill Kingdom, Fauna caught sight of the strangest thing she had ever seen in her lifetime: a wicked fairy on horseback.

Fauna was so taken aback that she stopped to inspect the matter at length. It was definitely a wicked fairy—her skin was greener than the grass through which her palomino steed galloped. She wore trousers and rode like a man, but her clothes had a stylish, feminine flair to them. She was rapidly approaching the place where Fauna hovered in midair, and as she drew nearer, Fauna began to think there was something very familiar about her.

Before she could wrap her mind around the idea, however, the wicked fairy slowed her horse to a trot several yards from Fauna and spoke. "What good fortune! I was hoping to find you."

Fauna blinked. She had completely lost her concentration, and she felt herself melting back into her usual non-traveling size. "Mistress Kinsale?"

"The same," Kinsale replied. "Are you traveling alone?"

Fauna nodded, dumbstruck.

"Might I suggest that you rethink your plans to charge into the Sea Kingdom alone and unarmed?"

"How did you—"

"Forgive me, dear, but there isn't really time. Joy has put her trust in the both of us—will that do for the moment?"

Again, Fauna nodded silently.

"Come with me, then, if you don't mind," said Kinsale, holding out her arm.

Fauna stared at her outstretched arm, unable to fathom what she ought to do.

Kinsale raised her eyebrows and opened her palm as if to say,  _Well?_  Fauna remembered very well what had happened the last time Kinsale's friendly composure had broken. She rushed forward and grabbed onto Kinsale's arm. She felt a twisting, spinning, crushing sensation…and suddenly they were  _nowhere_.

Fauna screamed. Kinsale put her free hand over Fauna's mouth. "Honestly," she muttered coldly.

Fauna began to cry. She should have known better than to get mixed up with wicked fairies. She should have known better centuries ago and she should have known better just now. She should have trusted her fellow good fairies. She should have trusted her sisters.

At the very least, she should have told Merryweather the truth. Then at least Merryweather would understand what had happened when Fauna was never heard from again.

* * *

Maleficent's eyes had quickly grown accustomed to the light. Now that the dungeon doors were closed once more, she couldn't even see the light from the distant sconces. She went to the trouble of working herself up into a sitting position and propped herself up against the back wall of her cell. Without the use of her hands, there was little she could do about the awkward angle of her legs, but she was almost accustomed to the pain at this point.

Maleficent's thoughts drifted back to how absolutely stupid she had been to rush off to the Sea Kingdom for something as base as emotional blackmail. If she had left well enough alone—if she had truly managed to steel her heart against her hatred for her mother and her pathetic love for Briar Rose—then she could have gotten everything she wanted. Her mother would still have been killed by someone else's hand, Briar Rose would still have been safe, but Maleficent would have gotten out alive. She could have faced Sara's demonstration another day, when she had prepared for it, and when she had no (or at least less) lingering unfinished business with those she would leave behind when she died.

After a moment of heavy breathing, she allowed her head to fall in the direction of the new prisoner. She decided she might as well speak. "May I ask your name?"

Maleficent heard the faint rustle of chains as she supposed the prisoner turned to face her, as well. "Maleficent?" said an incredulous voice.

"Joy," she replied softly.

"Oh, thank Hades," said Joy. Under different circumstances Maleficent would have chuckled at her use of this antiquated phrase. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to deliver my message to you."

'What message is that?"

"Well, it was that you were being set up…"

"Who knows what would have become of me had you failed to deliver your message?" Maleficent retorted dryly. As her eyes adjusted, she found that she could make out Joy's silhouette, and the sight was strangely comforting.

Joy was not very high on the list of people Maleficent wanted to see, but in her current circumstances, that only added to her sense of relief. Maleficent felt decidedly less alone.

The shadowy figure that was Joy gave her an apologetic shrug. "I sent for help, but I doubt it will come."

"Help?" Maleficent repeated, bewildered.

"A good fairy who sort of owes me a favour," Joy explained.

"Charming."

"There's no need to be snippy. Or don't you want to know what happened to your little sweetheart?"

"What in Hell's name are you talking about?"

Joy chuckled, "Ah, yes, you've had so many sweethearts that you don't know to whom I'm referring!"

"Some time you've chosen to mock me, Joy," Maleficent muttered.

"Oh, come now. My help comes through or we're doomed. There's nothing we can do about that."

"I envy you your glib optimism. Are you going to tell me whatever it is you think I want to know or not?"

"Oh, I'm positive you want to know," Joy replied. "Sara used your precious princess as bait to bring you here—don't you want to know where she is now?"

"I assume she's safely back in the Eastern Kingdom," Maleficent replied flatly, unwilling to admit how terrified she was that this assumption was incorrect. "Sara has no further use for her."

"Ruin all my fun," Joy huffed and Maleficent inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

"One thing does baffle me—how did Sara find her?"

"All I know is that Milla's youngest sister, Zalia, reported her to Sara," Joy replied.

"Zalia? How in Hell's name would she know about the princess?" Zalia was around Maleficent's age. She was high-strung, ill-tempered (which, coming from Maleficent, was saying something), and had never before shown any interest in climbing up in the ranks of Sara's regime.

"I don't know. She was visiting Kinsale or something."

Maleficent sighed, "I suppose it doesn't matter."

"My, but you're a downer," Joy chuckled. "You must be an excellent fuck for both Kinsale and the Eastern Princess to be so taken with you. Otherwise, I can't imagine why they'd bother."

Maleficent glowered at Joy's silhouette. "What I wouldn't give to be able to strangle you right now," she replied, feeling rather less glad for Joy's presence than she had moments earlier.

"Hmm, a bit kinky for my taste, but thanks for the offer. Is that the way you talked to Princess Aurora?"

"Do you suppose the next time a guard comes by I could request a different cell?"

"If so, I daresay you've more than had your revenge on her parents."

Maleficent groaned. "You know, I think I'd actually rather be tortured to death than listen to this."

"Oh, enough with the macabre we're-going-to-die bit. It's depressing."

"We  _are_  going to die!" Maleficent half-shouted. "Do you care nothing for your life?"

Joy was silent for a moment, and Maleficent took that time to collect herself. She didn't remember the first Chains she had worn making breathing so difficult.

"No," Joy said at last. "No, not really."

The silence in the dungeon was eerie. Maleficent wondered how long the other fairies had been there, that they didn't even have the strength to move around every so often. It occurred to Maleficent that some of them might have died and been left forgotten in their cells.

"I'm sorry for all the teasing, Maleficent," Joy said after a while. "I don't know whether it's true or not, but if it were, you know…I would understand."

Another eerie silence. If Joy was waiting for Maleficent to respond, she could wait until they were burnt at matching stakes.

After a moment, though, Joy spoke once more. "You fall for this…this golden girl, this shimmering pinnacle of perfection…and it isn't that that you…that draws you in, it's…she's so much more than that. But you...you are a monster simply because you exist. That you should dare to want her is unthinkable. You must be the incarnation of all that is evil to even…to even think of sullying her perfection with…with the blemish on the face of society that is you."

For the second time in a blurry handful of days, Maleficent wanted to cry. She couldn't decide whether she hated Joy for making her want to cry or for speaking words she felt resonating in her very soul.

"But that isn't true," Joy continued, her voice a mere echo of what it was when she began. "It's taken me centuries to really, truly believe it…but we aren't monsters. We are not freakish, we are not ugly, we are not somehow inherently less than good fairies or humans, even though they've spent all of time training us to believe that we are. They're wrong. We are magnificent."

Holding back tears physically hurt, and so Maleficent simply allowed them to fall. No one could see her. The room was almost pitch-black and she and Joy might be the only ones still capable of sentient thought, anyway. "How can you say that with such confidence?" Maleficent asked Joy quietly. She hated the way her voice cracked—she feared it gave her away.

Joy chuckled, but the sound came out as a breathy cough. "It's the only way I've been able to make the last couple hundred years bearable."

Maleficent did not respond. She thought she must have fallen asleep again at some point, for she awoke to the sound of the dungeon doors opening once more. Maleficent thought she heard five doors open before she saw sunlight, but she felt at the moment that she couldn't be certain of anything. The same guard who had come for Adara-how long ago had it been? Moments? Hours?-now stopped before her cell.

"Lady Maleficent of the Three Kingdoms?" She was just as nervous as she had been before. Maleficent could not see her face, only the shadowy outline of a petite woman. Maleficent wondered how such a fairy had come by this position.

"Yes?" she responded after a moment of silence. The guard drew her wand and unlocked the cell door, and Maleficent's legs came spilling out into the dungeon floor of their own accord. Maleficent bit the inside of her cheek to avoid crying out.

"Mistress Sara wishes to deliver your punishment personally," the woman said quietly, but she sounded calmer now. Maleficent snarled at nothing. Must it be so clear, how powerless she was?

"You shall have to drag me," Maleficent said crisply. "And I mean that quite literally."

"Oh," the guard uttered. She stood immobile for what seemed a long time before grasping Maleficent by the arms and, as suggested, dragging her toward the door.

Maleficent did not scream. She did not make empty threats. She did not curse the guard's name, or Sara's, or Joy's, or Briar Rose's. She wasn't even angry or frightened. There was nothing she could do now. She had not come to the Sea Kingdom as she had intended, as part of an intricate plan, but on impulse, in response to nothing more than a forged note. Her fate had been sealed by her own short-sightedness.

At the hour of her death, Maleficent was, just as Sara wanted, humiliated.


	16. The Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with suicide.

Fauna was awakened by a slap across the face.

"Really, now," said Kinsale, and with the sound of her captor's voice, Fauna was fully alert.

"Was that necessary?" asked Fauna, rubbing her left cheek. "Was I really asleep for so long?"

"You weren't asleep," said Kinsale dryly. She had dropped all pretense of friendliness. "You fainted when I transported us here."

"Oh," Fauna murmured, glancing around her as she realized that seeing Kinsale galloping toward her on a horse had not been some kind of fever dream. She wasn't certain what she had been expecting when she took Kinsale's arm and they twisted away into nothingness, but the fluffy white terrain of the Sky Kingdom certainly wasn't on the list. "What…why are we here?"

"Obviously so that I can torture you to death. Isn't that why you fainted?" Kinsale grabbed Fauna by the wrist and began walking before Fauna had fully stood up. "We're going to get a meeting with the Queen."

Fauna expended most of her concentration trying not to trip over her own feet as they walked. Without a good kick start, her wings were all but useless. Kinsale's legs must be three or four times the length of hers, and she took long, determined strides. "Isn't that, ah…isn't that rather difficult?"

"Why, yes, it is."

"Oh. But…but then, how are we going to—?"

Kinsale stopped abruptly. Fauna fell flat on her backside and sank into the clouds.

"Do you know what else would be difficult, Fauna?"

Fauna shook her head.

"Breaking into Mistress Sara's dungeon."

"Oh…well, I…"

"Did you have any sort of plan to accomplish such a task?"

"I…well, no, not exactly, I just…Joy sent me a letter, and I…"

"You know, Fauna," Kinsale interrupted her, "my experience as a writer of wicked fairy biographies has not endowed me with very many skills or very much useful knowledge, but I am certain of this: people far cleverer than you have had far better reasons for wanting to break someone out of Mistress Sara's dungeon, and none of them ever succeeded."

"None of them ever…?"

Kinsale shook her head. "So, I would highly suggest you trust my expertise in this particular area of things that are difficult. I have a far more vested interest in your cause than you do, I am far more aware of what we are getting ourselves into, and I have the benefit of knowing a multitude of ways to fail at what you were hoping to blindly attempt."

She turned and continued to walk without waiting for Fauna to gather herself and follow.

Fauna had only been to the Kingdom in the Skies once, when she was a little girl. Her parents had loved vacationing in distant lands, and the Kingdom in the Skies was quite a journey for a good fairy. Fauna marveled that Kinsale had more or less waved them here in a matter of minutes, and she didn't seem tired at all.

On the contrary, she seemed thoroughly energized in the most frightening way. Fauna tried to think back to her first impression of Mistress Kinsale, when she'd visited with her sisters. Kinsale had seemed unusually warm and welcoming for a wicked fairy, and certainly calm. She had invited them in and offered them tea, and she had tried to ask them idle questions about the Eastern Kingdom until Flora interrupted her. She'd been very nonchalant on the subject of Maleficent, and she had even tried to be helpful before Flora insulted her and Merryweather started yelling at her. Even then, there had been quite a bit of yelling before Kinsale lost her composure and threw them out, and she had done so without causing them any real harm.

Fauna wondered how much of that had been an act. All of it? Kinsale now seemed more akin to what Fauna expected from wicked fairies: sarcastic, irritable, and impatient. She hadn't seemed to be any of these things the first time they met.

"Mistress Kinsale, may I ask you a question?" said Fauna when she had finally taken flight and caught up.

"Sure."

"When my sisters and I visited you months ago…did you know where Rose was then?"

"Rose?"

How odd. Kinsale didn't know Rose as Rose? Did she go by some other name of which Fauna was unaware? Had they really spent such a long time apart? "Sorry, the princess…Aurora? She…we called her Rose when she was growing up. To hide her from..."

"I see," said Kinsale. "Yes, I knew where she was."

"And…and Maleficent, too?" Fauna still felt a twinge of fear at mentioning Maleficent's name aloud.

"Maleficent, too. They were both upstairs in my study."

This gave Fauna pause. "Doing what?"

"Doing what? Waiting for you to leave, I suppose."

"No, I mean…"Fauna shook her head. "What were they doing at your house?"

"Visiting. Maleficent wanted to speak with me and she thought Aurora and I would get along."

"Get along? Get along!" Fauna's head began to spin and she felt faint once more. "You sound just like Rose, making it seem as though she wasn't Maleficent's prisoner at all!"

Kinsale stopped walking again and turned around to face Fauna. "She wasn't," she said simply.

"I'm sure you think that, but you haven't seen her! Rose has gone completely mad! She treats everyone as though we're the ones keeping her prisoner, even her husband! And if she'd only realize that that's ludicrous, I'm sure Zalia would allow us to take off the chains and –"

" _What_?"

Fauna pursed her lips and stood in silence, staring defiantly back into Kinsale's eyes. Kinsale approached her slowly and deliberately as she spoke once more.

"Take off the chains?" she asked, her lip curling. "Or the  _Chains?_ "

"We had no other choice," Fauna said, trying not to tremble visibly. "She was bewitched. She would have killed us all. She might have killed her husband without even meaning to."

Kinsale let out a barking, mirthless laugh. "Yes, well, it's a good thing that horrible  _human girl_  didn't get her hands on you!" she said venomously. Fauna backed away, but Kinsale was too quick for her. She caught Fauna by the wrist and held it so tightly Fauna thought it might break. "I swear on my mother's grave, Mistress Fauna," she whispered, a breath away from Fauna's face, "if any ill has befallen the princess by the time we arrive to set her free, I will see to it that you suffer a most gruesome death."

There were a multitude of things Fauna wanted to say in response, but her fear silenced her. Set her free? To be set free was the last thing Rose needed. If she were set free, she would slip back into the delusional mindset of the angry sorceress who had been dragged into King Stefan's court in chains. Fauna and the King and Queen and Philip would lose their little Rose forever. How could Kinsale, a wicked fairy with no family ties, who could not understand love or kindness or the joy of helping others, possibly understand that?

Nonetheless, they had nearly reached the entrance to the castle. As they approached, reverberating from all directions, there came a female voice with the cry of "WHO GOES THERE?"

"Mistress Kinsale of the Valley and Mistress Fauna of the Eastern Kingdom," Kinsale replied without a trace of the malice her voice had contained moments ago.

"WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE HERE?" The woman's tone was not necessarily confrontational, but it was so loud that Fauna's ears hurt.

"We're here on behalf of Mistress Joy of the Southern Desert. She wrote requesting a meeting, but she's been detained."

Fauna's haze of unpleasant thoughts were somewhat sidetracked by this new information. Why had Joy sought a meeting with the Fairy Queen? Could people just do that? Were wicked fairies more privy to meetings with royalty than good fairies? That seemed unlikely.

"VERY WELL," the voice replied, and the gate began to open.

"Just like that?" Fauna breathed.

"Joy served as personal counsel to the Fairy Queen for many years," Kinsale told her as they entered.

"She  _what?_  A wicked fairy served as Queen's Counsel?"

Kinsale took a deep and very audible breath. "And wonder of wonders, the world did not end," she said crisply.

The doors to the castle opened before they had even reached the steps, and from behind them appeared two muscular good fairies in heavy armour. They watched intently as Kinsale and Fauna climbed the stairs, nodded politely, and walked past them.

The current Counselor was a very young and very pretty good fairy called Olympia. To Fauna's immense discomfort, Counselor Olympia took instantly to Kinsale's veneer of friendliness and barely questioned her presence here in the Fairy Queen's castle at all. Fauna began wringing her hands and wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into. Was this her reward for trying to repay a favour to a wicked fairy? Was her fate sealed the moment she engaged in conversation with Mistress Joy nearly five centuries ago?

As the doors to the Fairy Queen's chamber parted, Fauna began to tremble. If the Fairy Queen believed in Kinsale's act, she was doomed. Indeed, the world was doomed. And it would be largely Fauna's fault.

Queen Titania sat upon a throne remarkably similar in design to the one Fauna remembered from Kinsale's home—topped with the head of a roaring lion whose mane seemed to be fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. She must be nearly a thousand years old, and yet there was not a wrinkle on her face. She was impossibly beautiful. Her skin was the colour of chocolate, her hair, eyes, and wings were the colour of ambers, and they shone as though forever kissed by sunlight. She wore a flowing gown of midnight blue far more becoming than the blue of her council's robes and she was decked from head to toe in golden jewelry.

Kinsale and Fauna approached her, stopped at the appointed distance, and curtseyed.

"Mistress Kinsale of the Valley and Mistress Fauna of the Eastern Kingdom," said the Queen.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Kinsale replied, head bowed.

"Mistress Fauna, you look at me with surprise," said the Queen.

"F-f-forgive me, Your M-majesty," said Fauna. "I-it's only, I've n-never…never…"

"I know the name and face of every fairy in every known land, Mistress Fauna," said the Queen. "One of those things you learn after a millennium of practice. Mistress Kinsale, I am told you come in place of Mistress Joy. Pray tell, what has detained her? Is she unwell?"

"I'm not certain what's become of her, Your Majesty. I spoke with her about a week ago and she mentioned that she had written you. Since I hadn't heard anything from her, I paid her a visit to make sure she was all right, and I found a blue X over the threshold."

"I see," the Queen replied. "Why do you suppose Sara would have Joy arrested?"

Kinsale took a deep breath before she spoke. "It's been my suspicion for many years now that if Sara could wipe all wicked fairies from existence, she would do it. I believe that now…she thinks she can. She has grown very powerful. People—humans and fairies alike—worship her like some kind of god. I believe she plans to wage a war against my entire species, and that capturing Joy is a means of gathering information while simultaneously fear mongering."

Queen Titania nodded silently. "That is a heavy accusation."

"Perhaps," said Kinsale. She suddenly seemed nervous, and Fauna tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. Perhaps Kinsale's nerves would give her away and Fauna might escape this dreadful situation alive.

"But how many times is she going to get away with these crusades against my people?" Kinsale continued. "Cordelia was completely understandable, Acacia was obviously controversial, but Joy?"

"I see your point. I shall certainly see to Joy's release immediately. But Mistress Kinsale, that does not sound like a crusade against your species to me."

Kinsale clenched her fists. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but only a few days ago, Mistress Sara called for the death of another fairy whom I love dearly, one who certainly did not deserve such a harsh punishment."

The Queen studied Kinsale for a moment. At last, she replied, "It's my understanding that Maleficent was in violation of human law."

Fauna's jaw nearly dropped.

"If you're referring to the curse, Maleficent made a bad decision in a fit of temper, but in the end, she didn't hurt anyone but herself, so I don't see how it's relevant any longer. If you're referring to the alleged kidnapping of the princess, that was an enormous misunderstanding. The princess went with Maleficent of her own free will," Kinsale was rambling, and Fauna could see her hands shaking. Was it truly possible for a wicked fairy to care so much for another wicked fairy, that she would weave such lies about her guilt?

Queen Titania stood, and Kinsale bowed her head in a show of submission. "Mistress Kinsale, I am sorry for your loss. I shall see to the release of Mistress Joy immediately, and I shall forward your complaint to Sara regarding her hasty imprisonment of what seems to be an innocent wicked fairy."

Kinsale looked up, and Fauna was surprised to see her dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said tremulously. "Thank you. I cannot thank you—"

"However," said the Queen, holding out her hand for silence, "there is of course nothing I can do for Maleficent, and I shall not take any action against Sara in her name. Perhaps Sara acted rashly—indeed, she wasted a great deal of my Council's time on the matter—but she did so in the name of the humans she cherishes, and for that I commend her."

Fauna glanced back to Kinsale, whose eyes were now wide in shock, and she suddenly felt more conflicted than ever before, something she hadn't thought possible. Was there even a good side to be on in this conflict? Fauna admired Mistress Sara, but her disciples, such as Felicity and Zalia, seemed cruel and militaristic. Fauna was grateful to Mistress Joy, but Mistress Kinsale had just threatened her life, and she had come to believe that Maleficent might truly have deserved death for her crimes. The Fairy Queen was essentially siding with Mistress Sara. Did that make her one of Sara's disciples, or did that make her a good judge of character?

Fauna narrowly avoided shaking her head to try to clear her thoughts, for she knew she must be under close scrutiny.

After a long and eerie silence, Kinsale nodded. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I understand." She did not look as though she understood. She looked lost and frightened, the way Fauna felt.

* * *

Queen Leah knocked on Aurora's door three separate times before she decided to come in without an invitation. She opened the door slowly and glanced nervously around the room. Aurora lay at an awkward angle on top of the covers of her bed, snoring lightly.

Leah approached on tiptoe, then she gasped and stumbled backward in horror. Aurora did not stir.

Far more cautiously than before, Leah leaned in to inspect Aurora more closely. Her face was mostly obscured by limp, greasy hair, but Leah could plainly see a deep circle almost like a bruise beneath her eye. Leah could clearly see the outline of every bone in Aurora's body, her arms were covered in actual bruises in the shape of handprints, and her right wrist and hand were in a sloppy, makeshift cast.

At a loss for what to do, Leah, tried to gently push Aurora's legs into a more natural position, but this caused Aurora to stir from her slumber, and Leah jumped back as if her hands had been burned.

Aurora blinked dull, bleary eyes and tried to move her hair out of her face without using her hand. She eventually flopped over onto her back so she could use her other arm. Leah began wringing her hands, caught herself, and quickly clasped her hands behind her back before Aurora had stopped awkwardly twisting about.

Now flat on her back, Aurora gazed at the hand that had just tried to brush away the hair from her face. Several strands of her hair had fallen easily into her hand and she inspected them calmly, as though they belonged to someone else.

"Aurora," Leah breathed softly. "What has become of you?"

Aurora twitched, as though she had forgotten Leah was there, and at last looked at her directly. "The Chains," she replied, her voice raspy, stripped of its usual beauty. "Without magic in my veins, I am weak. Everything…" she paused to take a few deep breaths, "…about me is weak. My bones, my skin, my hair… I fear my heart…has also grown weak, for I don't think I can bear this torment much longer."

Leah bit her lip, a most unbecoming mannerism for a queen, and clasped her hands together tighter to keep from fidgeting. "Is…is there anything I can do?"

A sickly, sad smile twisted across Aurora's features, and a chill ran down Leah's spine at the sight.

"You could take off the Chains," she responded with a little chuckle. "See, it's funny because," she laughed again, a breathy, coughing sort of sound, and then had to pause to take a few more deep breaths. "It's funny because now…I understand how Maleficent felt when I met her!"

Leah tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "How is that?"

"Desperate!" she wheezed, still smiling manically. "I would do anything to get these things off! You know…you know…why even, why even stop at when I met her! I understand…the past year of my life now! If someone took these Chains off of me, I would do whatever they wanted! If Philip took…took these Chains off, I might actually love him again!" Aurora broke off into a fit of hysterical laughter, which ended in a fit of violent coughing, and she thrashed so that she faced away from Leah and curled herself into a ball until she had calmed herself.

"Aurora…" Leah said again after a moment of silence.

Aurora did not turn around, but when she spoke, she sounded much calmer. "The Good Fairies called me Briar Rose. Did they tell you that?"

"They…no…"

"All my life, I was called Briar Rose. It…it almost physically hurt me when Philip and everyone kept calling me Aurora."

Leah swallowed again. She couldn't think of a response, so she waited to see if Aurora would keep talking.

"I didn't mind so much when Kinsale called me Aurora. I don't know why I didn't just tell her to call me Rose. She would have. But I didn't. Isn't that odd?"

Leah squeezed her eyes closed in an attempt to process what Aurora was saying to her. Kinsale was the evil fairy from the other land where Aurora had been found. Aurora must think Kinsale was her friend the way she thought Maleficent was her friend.

"Malefient called me Briar Rose. The whole thing, seldom just Rose. It sort of fits with her character, though. She can't do anything the easy way."

What caused Leah's heart to wrench painfully in her chest, she supposed, was the warmth with which Aurora spoke of the evil fairy who had been the cause of all of their troubles. It was so horribly tragic, that the only people her beloved daughter seemed to be fond of were the evil fairies who had been her captors.

Leah cringed at the thought of what would happen if Aurora were to find out that Maleficent had been sentenced to death in the faraway Kingdom by the Sea, and that there was no doubt Kinsale's death sentence would soon follow. Of course their deaths were justified, but try telling that to this sad creature before her!

"What happened to your arm?" Leah asked, trying to regain control of herself.

"Philip broke it," Aurora replied flatly. "He didn't mean to, I suppose, but he could have just stopped when I asked him to."

Leah had begun fidgeting with abandon. She supposed no one could see her now. "Why didn't you send for a doctor?"

"I haven't been able to get out of bed for awhile. Fauna couldn't help with her magic, so she gave me this bandage. Flora came by, but it was only to yell at me."

"Yell at you?" Leah repeated, and suddenly her intense discomfort became something more akin to anger. "For what?"

Aurora was silent for several minutes.

"Aurora, why did Flora yell at you?"

Another long silence. Leah folded her arms.

"Aurora—"

But she was cut off by the sound of a strangled sob.

Leah approached tentatively and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and placed a hand gently on Aurora's shoulder, but Aurora violently shrugged it away.

Leah sat by her weeping daughter in silence for what seemed like forever, unable to do anything and unable to think of anything to say. After some time, Aurora calmed herself down and spoke once more, her voice like an echo of an echo. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Leah replied perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Are you in love with the king?"

Leah knew she ought to reprimand Aurora for speaking of her father as 'the king.' They had been given strict instructions by Zalia not to be lenient with her when she misremembered things or misunderstood her circumstances, for Zalia believed this would only enable Aurora's delusions. However, this was the most that she and her daughter had ever spoken. Leah knew it was self-serving and probably very harmful to go along with what Aurora was saying, but at the very least, it might keep her from grouping Leah with the other people in her life for whom she seemed to have no love at the moment.

"Yes, I am," she replied at last.

"Were you always in love with him? Did you love him from the moment you met him?"

Leah bit her lip for a moment before she answered truthfully. "No, I wasn't. I…I didn't, I…" she swallowed again. "I learned to love him. Because he was kind to me—much kinder than I deserved. Because he is a good man."

"Did you ever love anyone else before him?" Aurora asked after a moment.

"No," Leah replied. "I felt desire, of course, maybe a dozen or more different times. But I never mistook that for love."

"So…" said Aurora. "Do you mean to say that love feels different? That you know when you're in love from when you're not?"

"I…" Leah frowned. She wasn't quite certain where this conversation was going. Was this related to the comment she'd made about not being in love with Philip? "I don't know, Aurora. I imagine it's different for everyone. Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry—I know I'm being awfully rude," Aurora replied sadly. "I've just spent the past who-knows-how-many days being told what to think and how to feel…and that what I do think and feel without being told is wrong, and I…" she let out a long, shuddering sigh, "I'm trying to sort it out, that's all."

"You know, Aurora," said Leah carefully. "You are rather lucky."

To Leah's surprise, Aurora laughed. "How is that?"

"Well," said Leah as she began fidgeting with her hands again, "not everyone meets her True Love at exactly the right time the way that you did. Perhaps someday I'll meet my True Love or Stefan will meet his, but it won't matter. It will be nothing more than a curiosity."

Aurora twisted herself about so that she lay on her back, cradling her injured arm and looking up at Leah. "Truly? You'll feel no sadness? You won't be plagued by thoughts of what might have been?"

Leah averted her eyes. "I don't know, perhaps," she replied. "But what good does it do to dwell on what might have been when it won't be?"

"None, I suppose," Aurora replied quietly.

Leah turned to look at Aurora once more and dared again to reach out to her. Aurora winced when Leah touched her forehead, but she did not move away.

"You're safe now, Aurora," said Leah gently.

"I don't feel safe," said Aurora.

"But you are," Leah replied. "And in a few short months when these dreadful Chains come off, you'll be as good as new. Everything can go back to the way it was. The way it should have been."

"I suppose that is what's going to happen, isn't it?" said Aurora, but what remained of her voice was still tinged with sadness.

"Yes, it is," Leah reassured her.

Aurora was silent for a moment. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even, and Leah wondered if she might have fallen asleep until she spoke again. "Thank you for coming to see me. I've been very lonely."

Leah smiled and her heart leapt. "I would have liked to come sooner, but Stefan is so busy with the merger and all…I'll try to visit more often."

"All right."

Leah stood with one last pat to her daughters head. She untucked the bedclothes and covered Aurora up snugly before she made to leave.

"Maybe someday you can play something on the harpsichord for me," she said over her shoulder, feeling almost cheerful.

Aurora did not answer, and Leah decided she must have fallen asleep. "Sweet dreams, my daughter," she said before she closed the door.

She did not see Aurora flailing and thrashing until she got the painful, heavy blankets off of her, and she was already long gone by the time Aurora began to cry once more.

* * *

Fauna gasped. Kinsale cast a silencing charm upon her. She was truly a dreadful accomplice in this matter, but Kinsale imagined there weren't very many capable good fairies who would aid her in this, and she hadn't the time to track one down. She had what she had, and what she had was Fauna.

Fauna tugged wildly upon Kinsale's sleeve, gesticulated frantically to her throat, where no sound would come out. Kinsale bound her hands, returned to the task of watching the prison's entrance.

Her experience as a writer of wicked fairy biographies had not endowed her with very many skills or very much useful knowledge, but there was one strain of information she knew better than anyone else still living: all the ways people had tried to break into Sara's dungeon, and all the ways they had failed.

Around midnight, the five gates swung open, one after the other. Kinsale gestured to Fauna that she should make herself smaller, or whatever good fairies did to avoid perception, and Kinsale, herself, mouthed the words of a spell she hadn't found a use for in years:  _now you see me..._

Two of Sara's guards appeared, telltale blue in the faint light of the moon, dragging a prisoner behind them. Though she knew she was invisible, and that the guards would be unlikely to be searching for unfamiliar magic in the air, she still pressed herself closely against the wall as they passed, prayed Fauna had the good sense to stay hidden. For some reason Fauna shone like a firefly when diminished in size, like she couldn't contain her magic or something.

A dreadful accomplice, but all she had.

The guards dragged the prisoner past her, and Kinsale clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping, herself. She was too late. She was too late, and Joy was half-dead already, and Kinsale knew enough to know what they would do to her, knew enough to know Joy was being dragged to her death, and Kinsale...

Kinsale knew all the ways people had tried to break into Sara's infamous dungeon over the years, and she knew all the ways they had failed. She closed her eyes until Joy was dragged out of her sight. She could save one, or she could doom them all. There was no better option.

It was a dismal place, and it smelled heavily of death and rotting flesh. There were a few guards, of course, but they easily fell victim to a few soothing words of hypnotism from Kinsale's lips. One was even so kind as to point her in the direction of Maleficent. They had not been trained for this. They had not expected an intruder.

Sara was getting sloppy.

Maleficent was out cold, but still breathing. Kinsale grabbed the firefly out of the air and thrust her in the direction of the Chains. Fauna did not so much touch them as she braced herself against them, but they fell away all the same.

As she hoisted Maleficent over her shoulders, Kinsale checked over her shoulder to see that the guards were still staring dazedly in another direction. There'd be no going back to her home now, perhaps not for some time, and there'd be no taking chances in terms of where she could bring Maleficent. She was no healer, and if Maleficent were to come out of this with any degree of brevity, she would need some kind of aid.

Kinsale closed her eyes, took a moment to inhale deeply as she pressed herself against the wall and waited for the guards to return with Joy, waited to sacrifice her friend to cover her escape. She imagined what Zenovia might say if Kinsale turned up alone at her doorstep asking for assistance, rather than wielding her precious protege, and might have laughed at the idea under different circumstances.

She almost startled when the first gate clicked open. She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, heard it in her ears, louder than the groans of tortured prisoners or the approaching footfalls of guards, or the slow scraping of Joy's unconscious body as she was dragged to her final resting place.

* * *

Briar Rose had spent the past several days deciding how she was going to kill herself.

As she had told Queen Leah, she simply could not bear this any longer. She wasn't certain exactly when her thoughts had turned from anguish to serene certainty, but now that she had made a decision, it seemed very clear to her that it was the only option. Even if Rose were to lie here for another year and gain her freedom, what would await her? She had lost her ability to make music, she no longer loved, nor could she even tolerate her husband, and she would never see the people for whom she truly cared again.

She would not be permitted to see Kinsale again, assuming Kinsale had not also met some wretched fate for protecting her. She wanted to believe that Kinsale would be all right, that she was more than capable of defending herself, and yet she'd believed the same of Maleficent ten times over…

Maleficent was dead. Every time she tried to wrap her mind around this simple phrase, she felt a twisting, billowing wave of pain crashing over her entire body, and her thoughts began to spin out of control. But she knew it must be true. Maleficent had made it very clear that to go to the Sea Kingdom would spell death for her, and though Fauna had spent sixteen years withholding the truth from her, Rose knew she would not be able to actively lie without giving herself away.

Maleficent was dead. And something inside of Rose had died along with her.

Her first idea was to beat her head against the wall, but she figured she was too weak for that, and she'd only pass out before she'd done any real damage. The next idea came to her while she was in the bath tub, but she quickly ruled this out. It was usually a middle-aged maid named Madeleine's unfortunate obligation to help her in and out of the tub, and Rose didn't want her death to be blamed upon someone so completely innocent.

One night, after Philip had fallen asleep, she tried to smother herself with one of her pillows. Would that her death might be blamed on him! But alas, she merely lost consciousness, and when she awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, the pillow had been replaced beneath her head, and she felt no better or worse than usual.

Finally, one afternoon when she was feeling well enough to sit up in bed, she saw the answer to her troubles. Philip came to visit her, mercifully accompanied by Madeleine bearing a tea tray. Philip, having evidently found a half hour or less of conversation with Briar Rose too daunting a task, had brought his mail along with him.

Rose had spent the rest of their brief time together openly gaping at the letter opener in his hands, and she had nearly squealed with glee when he left it behind on the table. Before Madeleine could clear away his discarded envelopes and other wrappings, Rose quickly grabbed the letter opener and hid it in the fabric of her dress. When they had left her alone, she deposited it in the drawer by her bedside table, for she felt at the moment that she would much prefer to take a nap than to bleed to death.

She was awakened by Queen Leah, who only served to remind her how very, very alone she was. Aurora did not bear any ill will toward her birth mother, but it was easy to see that she felt the same way Fauna and everyone else did: that Rose was completely mad and must be treated with extreme caution. And being treated that way by everyone, including her birth mother and the women who had raised her as their own, made Rose feel like it might be true.

When the Queen left, apparently under the impression that her words of intended comfort had been helpful and not the ridiculous lie already spewed to her by her non-aunts, Rose felt more than prepared to depart from this world. She twisted and thrashed until the blanket fell away from her shoulders and she could breathe once more. Even the lightest sheet on her bed felt like a cumbersome weight upon her skin.

Rose pushed herself up into a sitting position, clutching her stomach as she felt the urge to retch, and sat still with her forehead against the wall until the world stopped spinning. She crawled over to her bedside table and retrieved the letter opener, and she tried to think of something peaceful to hold onto in her last moments of life.

She thought of her childhood, when she had been happy and blithely innocent of what was in store for her, but this brought only bitter tears of resentment for her aunts, whom she had loved so dearly and who had, evidently, thought of her as nothing more than a sixteen year-long diversion.

She thought of the moment she had turned around and caught sight of Philip, and the bubbly, overwhelming desire she had felt for him. She thought of the way her universe had seemed to center itself suddenly around him and the way she had believed that her entire life had led her to that moment. But this memory only caused Rose to want to vomit again, and she pushed it from her mind as quickly as possible. Philip was nothing more than an illusion—a handsome and charming illusion, to be sure, but one of many lies Briar Rose had wanted so desperately to believe on that day.

_And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem…_

She thought of the time she had spent with Maleficent, but even the thought of her name made Rose's heart ache. Perhaps their time together had been brief. Perhaps her  _unnatural affection_  had been very, very one-sided. She hadn't precisely been happy, but happiness had seemed like a possibility, like it was within her grasp. More than anything, she had felt like herself, like what was happening—bizarre though it was—was real.

Maleficent was an enigma. She was intimidating, often to the point of being frightening, and Rose always felt like she was saying and doing all the wrong things. But Maleficent had told her something marvelous: there was no need to apologize for what she felt and thought. This made Maleficent the first and only person who did not want Briar Rose to be anyone or anything other than the full realization of who and what she was. Perhaps it was merely because she did not care. But what Rose meant to Maleficent was now largely irrelevant. Maleficent had meant the world to Rose.

Rose held the letter opener awkwardly in her left hand and inspected the veins which crept out from beneath the bandage on her right wrist. It occurred to her suddenly that the Queen had asked about her injury, but by the end of the conversation had completely forgotten about it. Was everyone in this castle so desperate to believe in this strange, twisted reality of theirs that they could overlook something so obvious as a physical wound?

Rose doubted it would be difficult to kill herself by excessive bleeding—she was so weak already—and yet, if she failed, her life would become even more miserable than it was, a feat which seemed so impossible as to be frightening.

Indeed, though Briar Rose barely touched letter opener against her flesh, the skin gave almost instantly and blood came gushing to the surface. She watched with a sort of numb curiosity as it overflowed from the small wound and began to trickle down her arm. The pain was as nothing to what she felt on a daily basis and there were far more nauseous thoughts than this, the sight of her life draining out of her. In fact, she dared to feel just the slightest bit relieved. Perhaps her suffering would at last come to an end.

She drew the blade of the letter opener further down the blue line of the vein in her arm and breathed a sigh as it blossomed into bright red, seeming to glow against the sallowness of her skin. Suddenly, a multitude of things happened at once.

Rose began to feel extremely dizzy and fell to the side, dropping the bloodstained letter opener onto the floor and bumping her head against the wall.

Philip burst through the door humming a merry tune and greeted Aurora with jovial surprise. "You're sitting up today, my love!" he said, only to amend when he noticed the state of her right arm, "By God!"

Perhaps most surprising of all, so much so that Rose struggled to keep her eyes open in order to inspect it further, was that the wall of stone which had been built into the door to her balcony suddenly exploded, flooding the room with sunlight which caused Rose's eyes to burn. She blinked away the tears furiously and fought against the fogginess of her mind as her thoughts slowly spun away from her.

"Hello,  _Rose_ ," said a familiar voice.


	17. The Sanctuary

"Take off her Chains," Rose vaguely heard Kinsale bark.

Someone mumbled something in response.

"I'm sorry, did that sound like a question?"

The second voice let out a muffled groan and suddenly Rose felt a wave of immense relief, both physical and mental, as the Chains of Avasina were unclasped from her ankles.

"My, you've done a bit of a number on yourself," Kinsale said to Rose, taking her bandaged hand. "I'm not much with healing spells, but Mistress Fauna is a bit tied up at the moment…"

Rose felt the familiar tingle of magic trickling through her veins, specifically the vein of her right arm, and she found after a moment that she was able to open her eyes.

Kinsale stood above her, looking a bit worse for wear. Her hair, normally fixed atop her head in some intricate style, fell in wild curls about her face, which was covered in dirt and possibly blood. She smiled the same frighteningly perfect smile, though, and Rose found it in her to smile in return. "Thank you," she breathed.

"Don't thank me yet," Kinsale replied with a strange look about her as she helped Rose to sit up.

Philip stood just inside the doorway, frozen in a running position, mouth still agape in his cry of surprise. Fauna stood a few feet away from Kinsale, hands tied and with some kind of gag fixed over her mouth. Rose turned a wide, questioning gaze upon Kinsale, who shrugged sheepishly.

"Desperate times, desperate measures, you know," she said.

"What happened?" Rose asked.

"Oh," said Kinsale, her voice wavering, "all kinds of things. I'm afraid I'm putting you in a bit of a difficult position, but when I found out you had been Chained, I… Well," she shook her head, "you're in terrible danger whether you stay here or come with me, so I thought you might prefer to have access to your magic."

Rose half-laughed, half-sobbed. "You have no idea."

Kinsale's expression brightened somewhat. "Off we go, then?"

Rose glanced uncomfortably at Philip and Fauna. "What about them?"

Kinsale followed her gaze. "Well, I needed Fauna to set you free and she was being, ah…difficult," she chuckled, and Rose shivered involuntarily. That sort of dark humour was uncharacteristic of Kinsale; however, it was very characteristic of… Rose clutched her heart and pushed this thought as far away as possible.

Kinsale continued, "As for…I take it this is Prince Philip of the North? I suppose that's up to you."

_I suppose that's up to you._

The words echoed over and over in her head, drowning out the other mess of hazy, swirling thoughts that made little sense to her. She stood on shaky legs, grasping Kinsale's arm for support, and approached the frozen figure of Philip. She tilted her head and considered him. His eyes were the only thing about him capable of movement. They glittered with what Rose was surprised to identify as fear, and they blinked furiously, as though he were trying to communicate a message.

_I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you!_

_Oh, it…wasn't that… It's just that you're a…_

_A stranger?_

_Mhm._

_But don't you remember? We've met before!_

_We…we have?_

_Why, of course—you said so yourself! Once upon a dream!_

Rose realized now that Philip had always been at an enormous advantage over her, even then. He had probably tried to woo countless girls before her, girls who were far more aware of the pretty lies men would weave to beguile them, where Rose had at the time never spoken a single word to anyone but her aunts. In truth, she had been frightened of him even as she had been entranced. If she were being completely honest, she had not run away sooner because she had been afraid he might chase after her and overpower her. She had been taught all of her life that strangers could be dangerous, and she had no reason to doubt anything her dear aunts told her.

When she had awoken and so quickly become his wife, he had gained even more ground. Not only was she bound by law to acquiesce to the will of her husband, she felt tremendously indebted to him for saving her life. He had fought…she swallowed and tried to rephrase this part in her head…he had fought a fearsome dragon to save her, a magical dragon two or three times as large as any normal dragon could ever hope to be, and he had awoken her from her cursed sleep. When she could not bring herself to feel the same way she had about the handsome stranger she'd met in the woods, she blamed herself and felt incredibly guilty for the way she felt, or rather, did not feel. For this reason, Philip could have asked anything of her and she would have been unable to say no, for she felt at the time that she owed everything to him.

Since then, she had come to learn that it was very likely she was never in danger of actually dying. The sorceress-turned-dragon who had cursed her had turned out to be nothing more or less than a very troubled and profoundly lonely woman with a nasty temper. In the end, she would have avoided killing Briar Rose if she perceived it as possible in any way, and the curse would not have lasted forever.

Unfortunately, the next time Philip regained power over Briar Rose, it was obvious and absolute. Rose was no longer imprisoned in the confines of her own mind, with her innocence and guilty gratefulness as her only shackles, but a literal prisoner, kept in Chains in a locked room in what was meant to be her own home.

And this was where Philip had shown his true colours. Endowed with absolute power over Briar Rose, he had treated her as, she realized, he had always seen her: his possession. She was his most treasured possession, one for which he had fought bravely, and for this reason he felt entitled to do with her as he pleased. And she was left physically unable to resist.

Now, probably for the first time in his life, Philip was the one who was powerless. And for the first time in Briar Rose's life, she possessed the absolute power to do whatever she pleased. A frightening surge of rage flooded through her as she ruminated upon all of Philip's wrongs against her, and she realized that she could kill him, or take him along as her prisoner and torture him as he had tortured her, and Kinsale would not only allow it, she would not care. She was a wicked fairy—she had seen and perhaps even done worse.

_And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem…_

Rose shook her head sadly and she reached up to touch Philip's cheek. Philip had given her an afternoon of absolute bliss, one she desperately clung to in the miserable evening that followed. Even though she knew it was the magic he had been given at his christening which had so entranced her, and even after all of the misery he had wrought after Rose awoke, for that one happy afternoon, Rose hated the way she felt about him now. She hated that she looked at his face, into those wide, terrified eyes, and wanted to hurt him until he felt a fraction of the anguish he had caused her.

She averted her eyes and focused instead on his hand, which was balled into a fist. She uncurled his fingers and took his hand between hers. Her right wrist and hand were still bandaged, but she could feel a mixture of Kinsale's magic and her own coursing through her fingers, and she found she could grip his hand, albeit awkwardly.

She ran the fingers of her left hand lightly over the back of his frozen right hand, noting the slightly rougher texture of his skin, the light brown hair on his arm, and the lean muscle she had once admired. She squeezed his hand and looked up into his eyes, then grasped his arm and broke his wrist with a loud  _snap_.

Philip's eyes rolled back into his head and several tears came rolling down his cheeks. Rose narrowly avoided smiling in satisfaction. She let his hand fall. His wrist hung limply off of his frozen arm as though it had simply been draped there, and Rose watched for another full minute as tears continued to stream from Philip's horrified eyes.

"I do wonder," she said quietly, an echo of something Philip had often said to her in what seemed like another lifetime, "what it must be like inside your pretty head right now, Philip." She backed away, taking deep breaths in an attempt to quell the rage still boiling in her blood. "But I must be off."

She felt Kinsale's hands on her shoulders and turned around to face her. Kinsale gave her a small smile and touched her face lightly. "Off we go, then?" she repeated.

Rose nodded. "Off we go."

Not ten seconds later, Rose lay in a heap upon a cold, stony floor, clutching at Kinsale's leg as the world spun around her. She noted vaguely that Kinsale was wearing trousers and added this to an ever-growing list of strange things about Kinsale's behaviour today.

"We're here, Rose," Kinsale said gently and Rose looked up, blushed, and let go of Kinsale's leg.

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize." Kinsale knelt to the floor beside her and offered her hands to help Rose to her feet.

Rose took her hands, but the moment their eyes met, she instead all but threw herself into Kinsale's open arms. Kinsale returned her embrace warmly, and Rose dared to wonder whether her life might have truly improved just when she believed it to be over.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Rose half-sobbed into Kinsale's shoulder. "I thought I'd…oh, Kinsale, thank you…thank you for saving me…"

Kinsale chuckled and stroked Rose's hair. "You should only be so lucky as to be rid of me that easily," she said lightly. "I am only sorry I didn't come for you sooner."

Rose pulled away to look at Kinsale, but she did not let go of her arms. "What's happened? How long have I been Chained?"

"A week and a half," Kinsale replied, and Rose nearly choked in shock. She felt like she had been in those Chains for months already. "The Chains are a cruel punishment for a fairy, let alone a human sorceress," she amended sadly. "If they'd left them on any longer than a month or two, you'd have lost much more than just your magic."

Rose bit her lip for a moment before she spoke, "Mistress Zalia told them to leave the Chains on for no less than a year."

Kinsale's eyes widened in horror for an instant, and then her expression changed to one Rose did not readily recognize. It was the same way Kinsale had looked when she had explained why Fauna was tied up and Philip was frozen. "I expect Zalia will come to regret such a sentence," she said quietly. "Anyway, to answer your previous question, after I met with Joy and Zenovia, I came home to find you gone and everything in my home destroyed. I wasn't certain what had happened, so I waited a week before returning to Joy's home in the desert, where I found that she'd been taken by Sara's people. She left me a bit of a clue—that Fauna might help me."

"She certainly didn't want to help me," Rose muttered bitterly.

Kinsale frowned, "Yes, that does trouble me quite a bit, actually, that she would help Joy before you. But there'll be time to talk about that. I sought her out more as a back-up than anything—having a good fairy can be invaluable when the Chains of Avasina are involved—but first I went to the Fairy Queen to see if she might help me."

"The Fairy Queen?" Rose echoed. She tried to remember what she knew about the Fairy Queen and came up with very little.

Kinsale nodded. "She agreed to have Joy released, but she said she wouldn't take any action against Sara for acting rashly, on her account or on…" Kinsale pursed her lips and waited several long, painful seconds before she spoke again. "And that she would forward Sara my complaint. Which essentially meant that Sara would come after me next, and I'd be powerless to escape. So, I, ah…resorted to Plan B."

"What was Plan B?"

She smiled, "Mistress Zenovia."

"Ah," said an unfamiliar voice from the shadows. "This must be the infamous Princess Aurora." Rose whirled around, still clutching Kinsale's arm, to see the figure of a tall and noticeably muscular woman approaching. She came into the light, revealing herself to be just as impossibly beautiful as any other wicked fairy Rose had ever seen. She had high, pronounced cheekbones, large, dark eyes, and short dark brown hair.

At a loss for anything else to do, Rose curtseyed.

"There's no need for that, Your Highness," said the woman. Though her voice held no malice, it was cold and hard, and left no room for questions. "I am Mistress Zenovia of the Mountainlands," she said with a deep, sweeping curtsey which put Rose's to shame. "You are in my home. Or one of them, at any rate."

Rose stared in silence. Zenovia continued.

"Mistress Kinsale has asked me to teach you to heal and, if you wish it, to duel. As wicked fairies are born with the ability to heal themselves, the magic of healing others does not come easily to them. Most wicked fairies could not heal so much as a scrape on another person. Notable exceptions include Mistress Kinsale and myself. The magic itself is not weak, however, and you as a human sorceress will be able to wield it far more easily than a wicked fairy. This would be a way for you to be of assistance without being a liability and without using offensive magic, as I am given to understand was your wish when last you spoke with Kinsale."

"However," she added, and if it were possible, her voice became even more severe. Rose shivered. "I would highly suggest you learn at least enough magic to properly defend yourself. Defense alone might be enough if you were particularly skilled with it, but without much time left to prepare, the more varied your magical knowledge, the better."

Rose considered her previous desire for nonviolence, as well as her previous wish not to victimize others with magic the way she had been victimized. She found that these notions now seemed completely ridiculous to her, and yet she disliked that they did. She felt as though she had become some completely different person, one who did not mind snapping the wrists of those who would oppose her and who, when offered lessons in offensive magic from perhaps the most powerful wicked fairy on earth, would not even hesitate before wholeheartedly agreeing to this means of furthering her troublesome bloodlust.

Then again, she supposed this might be ever so slightly melodramatic. She had learned all too keenly that her limited knowledge of defensive magic was not enough to protect her. She knew then that she needed more. The violent thoughts she'd had since were another matter, and one which she must contend with on her own time.

"I have since changed my mind on the matter of offensive magic," she said to Zenovia with a strength and certainty which surprised her. "I would be very grateful for your instruction."

Zenovia smiled, and her smile was perhaps even more terrifying than her sternness. "Excellent. I ought to warn you that I have taken a grand total of one student in my lifetime. Patience and understanding are not among my virtues. However, my first student was even younger than you are. I took her on because she had already proven herself to be uncommonly talented. I offer you the benefit of my training in her honour."

Rose swallowed the bile rising in her throat and fought a powerful onslaught of tears at these words. "Maleficent," she breathed.

Zenovia nodded.

"I'm not uncommonly talented," said Rose, trying to will her lower lip to stop quivering.

"I heard a rumour that you put up quite a fight against Mistress Zalia before she captured you," Zenovia replied. "Zalia might not be especially powerful, but she's around Maleficent's age. For a human sorceress who has studied for less than a year, that's not bad."

"I'm nothing like Maleficent," Rose responded hollowly, shaking her head.

Zenovia rolled her eyes. "Fortunately, few people are."

Rose could not help herself—at Zenovia's heartless words, she began to cry. She crossed her arms and covered her face with her hand.

"Perhaps you would benefit from a bit of rest before we begin," said Zenovia after a moment. She placed a hand lightly on Rose's shoulder and steered her into a narrow hallway.

"I normally occupy this house alone," she said, "and I try to discourage guests, so I don't have a great deal of extra room. I hope you don't mind sharing." She rapped on one of a handful of doors and then pushed it open to reveal a small, bare room with two small beds crammed into it side by side, perpendicular to the door so that it could open.

The bed furthest from the door was occupied by an impossibly skeletal wicked fairy who sat propped up against the headboard reading a book. Rose could clearly see the outline of every bone in her arms and legs—it seemed impossible that she was even holding that book upright. Her skin was a horrifying grayish colour, and her body was covered in strange markings which looked like recently-healed wounds of some sort. What little hair she had was black and charred, and stuck out from her head in small patches.

She looked up from her book, and Rose gasped involuntarily. Her face was completely mutilated—it scarcely even resembled a face. Her cheeks were sunken in, both of her eyes were circled by dark bruises, her lips were swollen and distorted, and her nose was crooked, as though it had been broken.

The unidentified wicked fairy stared back at her calmly. "Briar Rose," she said, her voice barely above a raspy whisper.

"Come and fetch me when you've settled in," said Zenovia, and Rose heard the door shut quietly behind her.

Rose slowly began to shake her head. She would not believe it. She could not. If she believed it—if she allowed herself this surge of hope, it would be too good to be true and at the same time too horrible. If this poor, broken creature were Maleficent, what horrors had she suffered? It would be Rose's fault for wishing so desperately that Maleficent had lived—she would have condemned her with her selfishness to a fate worse than death.

"Calm yourself," said the mutilated fairy. "I wouldn't be physically capable of harming you even if I wanted to." And the edge in her voice, raspy though it was, was so perfectly familiar that Rose began to weep.

"Oh god, it is you!" she cried, sinking to the floor. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, I am so sorry! It's all my fault, I wished so hard that you might live even though I knew you were dead and you're not! You're not dead, but you're…oh god!"

Maleficent, if indeed it was she, had quickly climbed over the edge of her bed and onto the floor where she crouched before Rose. She barely touched Rose's arm with her fingertips, but Rose inhaled sharply and Maleficent withdrew her hand as though burned.

"You shouldn't apologize," she said. "I owe you the apology."

Rose shook her head once more, almost unable to meet Maleficent's eyes. She reached out slowly and touched Maleficent's cheek, expecting or perhaps hoping to be pushed away, but Maleficent did not even flinch. "What happened?" she breathed as a fresh wave of tears spilled out from her eyes.

"Well," Maleficent replied slowly, "I was supposed to be burnt at the stake a week ago. And I was certainly set on fire…" she gestured to the strange blistering wounds all over her arms, "several times. But only until I lost consciousness. Sara wanted me to beg for death. I didn't."

Rose bit her lip. She traced her fingers lightly over the burnt flesh of Maleficent's face. "Will it ever heal?" she whispered.

Maleficent's mouth twisted into something like a smirk. "I'm not sure why you're so upset. I wasn't any great beauty before."

Rose frowned. "That isn't true at all."

Maleficent reached up and gently removed Rose's hand from her face. "Of course it will heal. As I told you before, as long as we survive the initial blow, our bodies will eventually heal themselves. I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but you're looking a bit worse for wear, yourself." She looked down at the bandage on Rose's wrist and then traced a finger lightly over the angry red scar that had formed along her arm. "What's become of you?"

"I, ah…" Rose averted her eyes, "Philip broke my wrist. It was an accident. I was Chained, so I—"

"You were  _what?_ "

"Chained."

"By whom?"

"It was my own fault, really…I was—"

"The Hell it was," Maleficent growled. "Who Chained you? Flora? Fauna? One of Sara's lackeys? I'll kill them. I'll kill them all."

Rose frowned, but a part of her was somehow, disturbingly, comforted rather than terrified by the fire in Maleficent's eyes as she spoke. "There's no need for that," she said cautiously.

"Who Chained you?" Maleficent repeated, her lip curling.

"Mistress Zalia ordered it after she captured me. Fauna told the King and Queen that I could break a man's bones without even trying or something, so they agreed."

She rolled her eyes in response. "Of course they didn't take into account that you would sooner die than do such a thing."

Rose averted her eyes. "Actually…"

Maleficent placed two fingers beneath her chin and willed her to look up. Her expression was difficult to read in her current state, and yet her eyes were sparkling with interest. "Actually?"

"I…sort of…" Rose found to her surprise that she was trying to suppress a smile. It seemed so incredibly unthinkable, that the memory could make her happy in any way, that she should be sharing it with Maleficent, who she believed to be dead, and she was beginning to feel ever so slightly giddy. She must truly be losing her mind. "When Kinsale freed me, Philip was there…and I was so angry with him…and he'd been so horrible to me…he forced himself upon me again and again and again even when I said no, and he made me feel guilty for saying no to him…and he broke my wrist and I thought he was going to break every bone in my body, and I…I…I…" she was panting and tears were streaming down her cheeks. "I broke his wrist," she finally managed.

Maleficent chuckled lightly, and the sound filled Rose's heart with irrepressible joy. "Some evil sorceress you are," she said quietly.

Rose laughed, a breathy, strangled sound, and wiped away her tears. She tried to look past the depressing state of Maleficent's face into the sparkling black eyes she recognized and found that it was a surprisingly simple thing to do. "You're alive," she said with a small smile.

Maleficent reached up and touched her fingertips lightly against Rose's temple, stroking her cheek. "Zenovia doesn't like to be kept waiting. As it seems we'll be sharing a much smaller space than we're accustomed to, I think I can safely say that there will be time to talk later."

Rose nodded and stood, and she noticed that Maleficent took some time to get back onto her feet. She held out her hands hesitantly, but Maleficent steadfastly ignored them. "Are your legs all right?" she asked quietly.

"They were broken until yesterday," she said nonchalantly. "So no, not at the moment."

When she stood, Maleficent towered over Rose as she always had. She was virtually unrecognizable, and yet there was something so very particular about the way she stood and talked and simply  _was_  that Rose knew she could be no one else.

Rose realized she was staring, but she did not look away immediately. She reached out to Maleficent slowly and deliberately, giving her ample time to get away, and wrapped her arms around Maleficent's waist, resting her cheek against the prominent bones of her sternum. Maleficent's arms, even thinner and spindlier than they had been before, crept tentatively around Rose's shoulders and rested there for a moment before Maleficent truly returned her embrace. Rose smiled as she felt Maleficent's head come to rest atop her own, just for a second, and only then did she slowly pull away.

"Thank you," she said quietly to the floor before quickly turning and leaving to find Zenovia.

Rose was in the fortunate position of having a multitude of scrapes and bruises all over her body upon which to practice the magic of healing. Zenovia was not precisely impatient, but she moved very quickly. Rose could imagine that, with Maleficent as her only model for a student, Rose's memory and learning curve must seem dreadfully slow. Still, she was told to practice each incantation until she cast it successfully, then she must immediately move on to the next. After every five or so, she repeated the ones she had learned so far.

Zenovia taught Rose twenty separate healing incantations. Each came with its own long list of specifications—what kinds of wounds it healed best and what kinds of wounds it barely healed at all—and on these Rose was extremely fuzzy, but she remembered the incantations surprisingly well.

After several hours, Zenovia gave Rose two books, both written by her, on wicked fairy healing magic, and insisted they move on to dueling.

"First we'll see what you know," said Zenovia. "Are you ready?"

Rose held her arms in the defensive position and nodded.

Zenovia's attacks were lightning-fast and they came one after another, without any warning. Rose managed to block one or two, but before even a minute had passed, she fell flat on her back halfway across the room.

"Heal yourself," said Zenovia simply. "I'll give you ten minutes to recuperate."

Rose struggled to push herself into a sitting position. She examined the places on her body which hurt the most and shook her head, trying to remember which spell went with which kind of injury. She settled upon the ones she had the best luck casting and set to work healing the many scrapes Zenovia had inflicted upon her in their thirty second battle.

"This time," said Zenovia after Rose had gained a hold on herself, "try to listen for the sounds the spells make as they're cast. The more skilled your opponent, the less likely it is that you'll be able to see her magic."

"All right," said Rose, though she had no idea how she was going to go about listening for the sound of a spell. Besides the fact that it sounded utterly absurd, Zenovia cast spells far too quickly for Rose to anticipate. Nevertheless, she pushed herself up onto her feet.

"Are you ready?"

Now that it had been pointed out to her, Rose realized that if she concentrated hard enough, she could hear a small whirring noise as each spell was cast. This allowed her to block Zenovia's spells for a respectable amount of time before she was flung across the room in defeat.

"Much better," said Zenovia when Rose had righted herself. "Next we'll try it with a staff. Kinsale has volunteered hers for the moment, but you'll need to fashion one of your own tomorrow."

When Rose had healed her (decidedly fewer) scratches and scrambled back onto her feet, Zenovia tossed her Kinsale's staff. Rose swung it across her body in accordance with proper dueling form and Zenovia gave a curt nod of approval. "Are you ready?"

Using a staff against Zenovia's bare hands gave Rose a bit of an advantage, and this round lasted three times as long as the last. When Rose's defenses dropped and she was thrown back into the opposing wall, it was because her magic was tired, not because her mind had slipped.

"Yes, a staff of your own will benefit you tremendously," Zenovia remarked before Rose had fully propped herself upright. "It's not bad, but it seems defensive magic isn't your true strength. Before we call it a night, I'd like to teach you some simple elemental attacks to see if I can determine where you might excel."

"What if I don't excel at anything?" Rose murmured, eyes half-closed.

"Everyone excels at something," Zenovia responded. "Anyway, there's no need for melodrama. You've tried only two types of magic thus far."

Rose sighed deeply and examined the scrapes she had received from their most recent battle. Though she didn't think she'd be able to heal herself, her magic was evidently more resilient than she had previously believed. She steadied herself against the wall and stood. With a wave of her hand, Zenovia caused Kinsale's staff to fly back into Rose's hands.

"It's doubtful that Earth will be your strength, so we'll begin with that to rule it out," said Zenovia once she was assured Rose wouldn't pass out on the spot. She taught Rose an Earth attack, which was something about the ground shaking or vibrations from the earth…Rose could not quite understand it, but she tried it nonetheless.

It took her at least an hour, but finally, the ground did indeed begin to shake. Rose, who was half-mad with exhaustion, turned quite giddy at the sight of her minor success. "Aha! I did it!" she cried, but before the quaking earth could make its way over to Zenovia, it died down and disappeared.

"Good," said Zenovia, but as she had done all day, she moved on without a repeat.

The next spell was an Air attack—which essentially sounded like a glorified gust of wind to Rose. This one took her far less time, and would have even enjoyed a small success if Zenovia had not reached up with one hand and nonchalantly flicked the spell away into nothingness.

"Good. Next."

The Water attack was some kind of toxic cloud which, as far as Zenovia was concerned, was "essentially a defensive spell unless expertly executed." Still, she taught it to Rose, Rose tried it over and over and over, and just as the sun began to set outside, she managed a small, sickly little puff of a cloud which actually made tiny coughing sounds as it eased its way over to Zenovia.

Zenovia frowned at it. "Good enough. Last one, then you need your rest."

Rose nodded in agreement, still watching her sad little cloud as it dissipated with a wheeze.

"Fire attacks can be extremely effective when wielded by the right sorceress," Zenovia explained. "Fire is, after all, one of only a handful of ways to kill a fairy permanently. Our kind is understandably fascinated by the stuff, and we've come up with a wide variety of uses for it. For now I'll teach you to form and throw a simple fireball."

Rose vaguely remembered the balls of energy or something that Maleficent had thrown at her for practice. She supposed this had been mere months ago, but it seemed like something out of a different lifetime. The process of forming such a thing was quite conceptually complicated—it required her to think of her magic as a concrete force which could be gathered and solidified. Once she had finally managed that to Zenovia's satisfaction, she must then learn to set the thing on fire.

The first several tries resulted in her energy ball dissipating into nothingness before she could get a spark to catch. The next few attempts resulted in Rose burning her hands and having to stop and heal them before she could continue. A wound to the hands, the vessels through which wicked fairy magic was most commonly performed, could be extremely detrimental to the flow of magic—according to Zenovia, when Rose had asked if she might forego the healing in favour of pressing forward.

The room had grown extremely dark but for the light of the moon. While Rose stared sternly at what was currently nothing between her hands for the thousandth time, Zenovia stopped her. "A little trick I can teach you that might help," she explained. Without explaining any further, she taught Rose the incantation, then showed her the way to enact it—by holding up one's hand and, essentially, blowing a kiss.

Rose tried it and, on her first try, a stream of colourful magic burst forth from her lips and snaked around the room, lighting several candles along its path before it returned to her.

Zenovia smiled. "Perhaps you'll be good with Fire, after all," she said quietly. "Try it with your energy ball."

Rose took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to feel the magic in her fingertips as though it were a tangible substance, and managed to create the bluish, tingling energy ball she desired. As per Zenovia's instructions, she thought of the candle incantation and blew upon her hands.

The energy ball caught fire. Rose's hands did not.

"Excellent. Now throw it. Hard."

Rose obeyed quickly. Zenovia caught the fireball with ease and threw it back to Rose. "Careful—remember, you made it. As long as you own your creation, it can't harm you."

To Rose's immense surprise, when she caught the fireball, it did not burn her. Delighted, she threw it back to Zenovia, who nodded her approval before throwing it back.

"Extinguish it and take back your magic, then we're done for the evening."

Rose blew out the magical fire she'd started, pulled apart her energy ball, then promptly stumbled back into the wall.

"Well done today, Princess Aurora," said Zenovia with a nod. "Get some rest, and please fetch me when you wake."

"Thank you, Mistress Zenovia," Rose replied, stifling a yawn. She made her way back down the narrow hallway, knocked quietly on the door of her shared room, and pushed it open to find something quite unexpected.

Maleficent was asleep. She lay on her side beneath her blanket, legs curled up close to her body, half of her mutilated face bathed in moonlight. Rose was not certain why she found this so incredibly noteworthy, but she had never been awake when Maleficent was asleep before. It seemed that no matter what time of day or night she was up and about, Maleficent was always up and about, as well. Rose knew it was completely ridiculous, but she had begun to believe on some level that Maleficent simply did not sleep.

Rose crawled into her own bed and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, delighting in the feeling of a blanket which did not feel too heavy for ever-aching bones. She was exhausted and sore from her long day of work, but it was nothing compared with the way she had felt while Chained. She settled back into her pillow with a contended sigh.

"Sweet dreams, Briar Rose," said Maleficent quietly, her voice almost unreal, like the one that had echoed in her nightmares in weeks past.

Rose turned on her side and cracked open her eyes so that she could see Maleficent's outline to assure herself that the voice was indeed real. She smiled. My, how her circumstances had changed since this morning!

"Maleficent," she breathed as her eyes closed of their own accord.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, I'm just…" she yawned and pulled the blanket up around her neck, "…glad you're here."

Briar Rose was already fast asleep by the time Maleficent responded.

"Not as glad as I am."


	18. The Eye of the Storm

Briar Rose awoke slowly and reluctantly. She felt a kind of serenity she hadn't previously thought possible, and she was certain that if she held onto this dream hard enough, she might be able to avoid awakening to the nightmare she knew she was living. In her dream, she was not in pain. She was not weak or feverish or shivering, and she could feel the faint tingle of magic in her fingertips—not powerful or overwhelming, but gentle and reassuring, waiting in reserve, should she need it.

It felt so real. Rose knew it was a dream, for it was far too perfect to be true, and yet, as the sadness tugging at her heart roused her further from her slumber, she still did not feel any pain, nor did she feel the shaking, sickening weakness overtaking her.

Rose's eyes shot open. She glanced frantically around the room. It was extremely small—there was room for only her small bed and the empty bed directly next to it, with no space in between. There was a little window on the wall across from the door, through which the faint grey light of a cloudy day was shining.

With swift, jerky motions, she examined her body. She was much thinner than she remembered, but her wrist was not broken and bore only a bright red scar of her own design. It did not hurt to blink or to breathe. Her hair was not falling out. Her ankles were not throbbing and her legs were not shaking.

Rose smiled, disbelieving. She was free.

She lit from her bed, which involved climbing over the end and then maneuvering her way around the door, and then returned through the narrow hallway to the main room where she'd practiced magic with Mistress Zenovia yesterday. The room's only occupant was Kinsale, who sat in a tall and very uncomfortable-looking armchair with a book propped upon her knee, on top of which she was writing.

When Rose entered the room, Kinsale looked up. "Good morning, dear," she said.

Rose smiled brightly. "Good morning," she echoed reverently, still scarcely able to believe the words were true.

Kinsale returned Rose's smile and she set her book aside. "Would you like to see something positively horrifying?"

"What?" Rose's brow furrowed. Something Kinsale found horrifying? Rose shivered at the thought.

Kinsale gestured to the door which led to the vast, hilly fields which surrounded Zenovia's fortress. A short distance away, there seemed to be a giant black cloud of...something.

Rose squinted in the gray light of the morning and found that within the cloud of something were two green-skinned people wielding staves. Upon further inspection, she realized that they were firing spells at one another.

"Who are they?" Rose asked Kinsale in a terrified whisper.

"Why, Maleficent and Zenovia, of course. Zenovia is already entertaining more guests than she has in her entire lifetime."

Rose squinted at them again, but she still barely recogized them as people. Spell after spell flew back and forth between the shadowy figures. One of them would fall down or fly into the air and immediately she'd fire another spell without missing a beat. As what Kinsale had said registered with her, Rose clasped a hand over her mouth. "What happened?"

"Nothing," said Kinsale. "They're practicing."

Rose turned to face Kinsale, wide-eyed. "Practicing?"

Kinsale quirked an eyebrow in response, and Rose turned back to watch in a mixture of horror and enthrallment.

"My money is on Maleficent," said Kinsale from behind her. "Zenovia is older and stronger by far, and Maleficent has been so badly injured, but injury only augments her ruthlessness. She loves to fight...and she'll do anything to win."

Rose swallowed uncomfortably. Though she knew to some extent that this was true, she had sort of forgotten about that aspect of Maleficent. She shivered involuntarily at the memory of Maleficent when Rose had first set her free, emanating strength and power even despite her physical weaknesses. Now that Rose really watched the faux battle, she noticed that more often than not it was Zenovia who lost her footing. On the rare occasions when Zenovia did hit Maleficent with a spell, Maleficent seldom fell, but rather launched herself into the air and fired another spell before her feet had touched the ground again.

Suddenly, Zenovia's body seized up, and she fell to her knees, hands behind her back, as Maleficent swung her staff over her head, aiming it at Zenovia's throat. Rose had seen drawings that looked like this—it was the most formal way to end a duel, if it did not end in death. Maleficent had won.

"It's a good thing you didn't bet against me," Kinsale quipped, returning to her chair. "I would pretend I didn't see if I were you, unless you want to be worked twice as hard for the sake of Zenovia's pride."

Rose quickly followed Kinsale and took up one of the books she wasn't using. She tried to push aside the sudden flood of curiosity regarding Maleficent's relationship with Zenovia...Zenovia had been her teacher, but how long ago? How long had it taken Maleficent to learn the tricks of her teacher, so well that she could win in battle despite inferior age and power?

Maleficent and Zenovia entered the house...fortress?...in silence, just as rain began to fall outside.

"Good morning, Briar Rose," said Maleficent.

She looked a thousand times better than she had just yesterday. Her eyes, lips, and nose were their usual shape and size, for one thing. Most of her hair had begun to grow back in, but she had cut it so that only the barest fuzz of new, uncharred growth remained on her head. Her prominent widow's peak and dramatically arched eyebrows served to define the unique shape of her face. Her skin was still a sickly grayish colour and covered in burn marks, but overall she looked much more like Maleficent.

"Good morning," said Rose quietly. "Good morning, Mistress Zenovia."

Zenovia nodded, but she was preoccupied with several rather nasty wounds on the exposed skin of her arms. "When the rain dies down, go outside and gather some wood. Maleficent, I'll call for you when we're ready, if you don't mind."

"Very well. Good day."

Surreptitiously, Rose watched as Maleficent disappeared into the narrow corridor that led to their shared room. A part of her felt immensely relieved to see Maleficent looking more like herself, if not perhaps acting it. Another part of her reminded her sternly that she hardly knew anything about Maleficent, and that she tended to forget Maleficent's less favourable characteristics when she was feeling particularly alone swimming in her own multitudinous faults.

When the rain died down, Rose went outside. She relished in the feeling of the wet grass upon her bare feet, and it took her all morning to gather enough fallen branches to form a proper staff. Around midday, the wind turned cold and harsh and picked up speed, and Rose learned to meld the wood together to form the base of the staff. Sometime in the early evening, there was another violent downpour of rain, and Rose spent this time learning to conjure an orb made from the material of her birthstone, aquamarine. Then, as though she were not already completely exhausted, the real work began.

Zenovia explained that fairy children generally learned long after they came of age and had taken up a permanent residence. Rose was, therefore, ahead of the curve in this aspect. Conversely, the process would be far more difficult and arduous for her, as her magic was comparatively young.

"But a staff, as you've observed, grants you an enormous advantage in battle. And the effects will only be better if the staff is your own. Essentially," she explained, gesturing to the bluish-green orb Rose had created, "you're going to pour your magic into it. All of it. Then you're going to make a sort of copy of it which will remain within the staff."

Zenovia showed Rose how to hold her hands so that when she cast the spell, her staff would stand by itself. "As you've been a victim of the Chains of Avasina, I expect you know already how it will feel when you've done it correctly. Since you're not a fairy, someone will have to help you to cast the incantation once you've drained your magic. I thought the ideal candidate would be Kinsale, since you've proven you can use her staff with no unpleasant side effects, but Kinsale pointed out to me that you share magic with Maleficent."

Rose frowned. She remembered vaguely that Kinsale had written something about that in a letter, but that seemed like forever ago. It hadn't made any sense to her at the time, and she'd forgotten to ask about it. She'd had many more pressing matters on her mind. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't understand."

Zenovia raised her eyebrows, but this was the only sign of surprise which registered upon her face. She did not ask any further questions or evade the topic. She simply explained. "Queen Leah of the East was unable to conceive for many years. She feared that the king would turn to another woman, or that their bloodline would end and the kingdom would fall into anarchy when they died, so she went to Maleficent to ask a favour. Don't misunderstand me—you're fully human and King Stefan and Queen Leah are your parents, but it was due to Maleficent's magic working upon your mother's womb that you were able to be conceived."

Rose's mind went momentarily blank and she was at a complete loss. She snapped back to attention when she almost dropped her newly-fashioned, completely useless shell of a staff. "I…I don't understand…" Rose murmured. "I'm sorry, I just…I don't understand, I…I need a moment."

Zenovia stood silently for several minutes and allowed Rose to collect her thoughts, but she did not offer any further comment.

"If Maleficent was the reason I was born..." Rose began slowly, "why did she curse me to die?"

"She charged the queen a price for her services. Queen Leah didn't pay the price, nor did she ever acknowledge it again," Zenovia replied with a small shrug. "I wouldn't lose sleep over it, Aurora. Maleficent may be a difficult person, but I assure you she no longer wishes you any harm. Shall we proceed?"

Rose squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. She did her best to push the countless conflicting ideas and questions to the back of her mind before she nodded.

Zenovia put two fingers to her throat, but she did not amplify her voice. "Maleficent," she said quietly. "We're ready to begin." Then, she removed her fingers from her throat and spoke to Rose. "All right—this will be a bit like forming an energy ball, but you'll keep pouring your magic into the orb. Do you understand?"

Rose nodded. A second later, Maleficent appeared from the narrow hallway which led to their shared bedroom. She must have noticed Rose staring openly at her, for she pursed her lips and nodded uncomfortably.

"Begin whenever you're ready," said Maleficent quietly.

Unfortunately, with two pairs of eyes veritably looming over her, all Rose could think about was the ways in which Maleficent was like Zenovia and the ways in which she differed. She couldn't help but wonder what Maleficent had been like as Zenovia's student, and, on a related note, what she had been like when she was younger than Rose was now. She tried to clear her head, but her curiosity was only replaced by fear that she would be unable to properly cast the spell and would embarrass not only herself, but Maleficent, her first instructor.

To her immense surprise, Maleficent spoke once more. "It's all right," she said. Rose's head snapped up to look at her and she nodded again. Rose took several deep breaths and returned her attention to the aquamarine orb before her.

Once she'd cleared her head, pouring magic into something tangible was much easier than pouring it into empty air. She struggled to continue to push when she felt her magic depleting, and she began to panic when she began to feel as she had when she was Chained. She bit her lower lip and squinted in an attempt to keep her concentration, but her mind had begun to spin out of control. What if she wasn't powerful enough to manage this? What if it truly killed her or drove her mad? What if she'd already lost most of what little magic she had to the Chains?

Tears began streaming down Rose's cheeks. She had to try. She had to finish this. She was too weak to truly be of any use, anyway, so she would drain all of her magic into this staff before she died, that it might be of use to someone.

Just as she'd begun to spiral deeper into the all-consuming depression which had seemed until yesterday to be her final undoing, she felt large, cold hands covering her own. She looked up to meet Maleficent's eyes, alight with a strange spark she had never seen in them before, and she felt an overwhelming surge of magic course through her entire body. The aquamarine orb between their hands, which had previously looked much the same with magic as without, glowed bright green.

Rose could hear herself panting, gasping for breath, and yet she no longer felt as though her life was being drained from her along with her magic. On the contrary, she was stricken by the sudden notion that she had never felt so alive. She was tingling all over with an unfamiliar sensation. Try though she might, she could not quite catch her breath, and she found that she could not look away from Maleficent's shining black eyes, nor could she even blink.

The tingling sensation slowly grew in intensity until Rose was quivering from head to toe. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots, but this was not overall unpleasant. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Was this the way Maleficent felt every time she used magic? It was...Rose didn't know what to make of it. It was positively intoxicating. Rose began to feel slightly giddy. If she could feel this way all the time, she would do it. She would practice magic until she could feel this way all the time.

With a painful jolt that ran all the way up her arms, Rose fell in a heap upon the floor, still gasping for air and sweating profusely. Her vision was blurry, and all she could think about were Maleficent's eyes staring into her soul. She tried to move, but couldn't. She tried to blink away the blurriness, but saw no change. She saw only a faint glowing green light surrounded by the smaller, dimmer lights she knew to be candles.

She was reminded vaguely of a similar green light, and the way she'd known she would follow that mysterious light to the ends of the earth and beyond. She remembered the disembodied voice that seemed to resonate within her own body, the voice she now knew to be Maleficent's, leading her up flight after flight of winding stairs with soothing, meaningless words of comfort. It occurred to her that, in this vague half-memory, Maleficent was drawing her in with the intention of enacting a curse upon her, and yet her mind seemed to have disconnected with this information, for it seemed like nothing more than a very disturbing dream.

She thought in contrast of the real Maleficent...or at least the one who seemed most real to her, who seemed so completely awkward when genuinely trying to comfort her—and, concurrently, of the many times she had tried to comfort Rose in spite of that. She thought of Maleficent fighting with Zenovia...she thought  _ruthless...she'll do anything to win...she doesn't understand anything about love or kindness or the joy of helping others..._

These thoughts then began to intermingle with  _a visitor?_  and  _I'd much prefer if you made it clear what you're thinking and feeling_. She thought of Maleficent in Chains, holding out her wrists, and she thought of Maleficent magnificently dressed and glowing with power, holding out her arms.

Mostly, though, her thoughts kept drifting back to that strange spark she'd just seen flickering in Maleficent's black eyes, like lightning against the night sky, and each time she saw Maleficent's eyes in her mind, her stomach began twisting itself into nervous knots once again, and she could not even begin to fathom what that might mean.

As if in response to her dazed simile, Rose heard the distant rumble of thunder. With the accompanying flash of lightning, her vision began to clear somewhat, and she found she was able to push herself into a sitting position.

Zenovia stood exactly as she had before—she did not seem to have even shifted her weight since they'd begun. Maleficent was bent over Rose's staff, muttering quietly over the glowing orb atop it.

"I'm sorry," Rose wheezed. "Did I ruin it?"

"No, it's all right," Zenovia replied, but she was eyeing Rose with something like disdain. "It seems to be working."

In spite of Zenovia's unusual expression, Rose found it within her to smile in disbelief. She had done it? "It's working?" she repeated.

Zeonvia nodded curtly, still eyeing Rose suspiciously, but Rose was quickly distracted by the sight of Maleficent, still hunched over the glowing green orb of Rose's staff, eyes (mercifully) closed. "What is she doing?" Rose wondered in an awestruck whisper.

"She's sealing in the copy of your magic I mentioned. Shouldn't take but another minute."

Rose responded to Zeonvia's explanation by lying (that is to say, half-falling) back down on the floor. She did not feel even nearly as bad as she had when Chained. Her exhaustion was more akin to the way she'd felt when she first began practicing magic day in and day out.

She found it curious to reflect upon the time she'd spent, barely eating, barely sleeping, always studying, and seldom seeing any improvement. She'd been living in a strange kind of daze, waking up every few hours whether it be night or day only to exhaust herself another few hours or even minutes later. She realized now, after yesterday's grueling lesson with Zenovia, that she would have done much better to seek Maleficent's tutelage every day, and wondered why she hadn't realized that.

The answer came surprisingly easily to her. Maleficent had seemed to her so absolutely unreachable on every level, and in spite of that, Rose had longed—with a desperation which was slightly disproportionate to the actual content of their relationship—to understand her better in any way at all. Certainly Rose wanted to be able to defend herself—she didn't want to be a burden, and she wanted to entertain the idea of having personal freedom someday in the future, for hadn't that been the reason behind her mad adventure into the unknown? But neither of those things seemed like they could qualify as immediate concerns. Reaching Maleficent seemed somehow surmountable. A very large and probably exceptionally foolish part of Rose thought that if she one day emerged from her room an even marginally competent sorceress, Maleficent might look at her as more than the foolish, helpless girl she'd tricked into setting her free.

Rose began to feel truly foolish when she realized that she didn't want Maleficent to be her teacher. She felt that this would only add to Maleficent's perception of her as a simple child, and as a result, she avoided seeking Maleficent's help to her own detriment. That was ridiculous. Rose really must try to move past her deluded obsession if she wished to share the same room—and very nearly the same bed—with Maleficent.

Fortunately, before this unprecedented thought could give way to a host of perplexing tangents, Rose felt the tingle of magic as it returned to her body, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief as she pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

Maleficent held Rose's staff out to her and Rose carefully avoided meeting her eyes as she reached for it. "Thank you," she said to Maleficent's outstretched hand.

As her hand wrapped around her staff, however, Rose felt a powerful surge of something which caused her entire body to shiver violently. " _Oh,_ " she uttered, gazing at the orb which had begun to glow a light bluish-green.

"Get up," said Zenovia. "Prepare yourself." As Rose obeyed, Zenovia thanked Maleficent, who disappeared back into the narrow hallway which led to their room without another word.

Rose could not quite put the way she was feeling into words, but if she had to suppose, she would guess that it was as though the lightning crashing outside were within her, surrounding her, and dancing all over her skin, and she could not tell whether she was burning or freezing.

For the first time, as she swung  _her_  staff across her body, Rose actually felt prepared for what was to follow.

Zenovia's first several spells gave no visual indication, but Rose easily heard the whirr they made when they were cast and blocked them, one after the other. The next spell came more quickly, but it had a faint purplish trail behind it. Not only did Rose block it, but she fired back a spell of her own. It was little more than a weak gust of wind, really, and it was one of only two offensive spells she could successfully cast, but Rose felt tremendously accomplished.

Instead of throwing off her focus, her small victory invigorated her, and she fought back twice as hard and twice as fast. Once, when she was feeling particularly brave, Rose tried to form a ball of energy using her staff. Unsurprisingly, with a concrete object for visualization, the task was much easier, and she actually succeeded in firing it. Zenovia caught it and threw it back at her, and Rose, with a last minute burst of adrenaline, caught the glowing ball of energy, blew upon it, and set it on fire before throwing it back.

Their battle lasted for a long time. The storm ebbed away into the occasional drip-drop, then picked up again into a fully-fledged downpour, complete with powerful gusts of wind which put out the candles in the room, and bright flashes of lightning which came to serve as Rose's only indicator of Zenovia's constantly changing position. Rose began to panic, as though her life were truly at stake in this battle, and again her mind drifted back to the fuzzy, incomplete idea she had of Maleficent at her age, even more alone in the world than she was, learning and even teaching herself to fight battles like this one, knowing that she might one day have to fight one against her own mother.

Upset by her ruminations, Rose's concentration wavered and one of Zenovia's spells scraped her arm. Blood gushed from the wound, and Rose grew even more distracted.

"Put up a shield and heal yourself!" Zenovia barked, but this command was accompanied by another spell which hit Rose squarely in the knee.

Rose collapsed, grasping onto her staff for support, and put up a very weak shield—she could physically feel the holes in it, which, conceptually, seemed quite bizarre to her. She tried to heal her arm, but only barely managed to stop the bleeding before some spell of Zenovia's literally blasted her shield into pieces.

Rose hopped to her feet, wincing as she landed upon her injured leg, and spent the very short remainder of their battle trying and barely succeeding to block the spells Zenovia threw at her one after another, until one finally hit her squarely in the stomach. The spell not only threw her across the room and into the wall, but it seemed to paralyze every bone in her body with pain. Rose tried to scream, but the sound was strangled in her throat and came out as little more than a quiet groan.

"That's enough for today," said Zenovia. "Review your healing spells, get some rest, and fetch me when you wake."

Rose lay twisted and paralyzed against the wall for several minutes, willing her body to move before, slowly, she was able to drag her limbs into something resembling their proper alignment. She half-crawled, half dragged herself to the hallway before she made it onto her feet. She flung open the door to her shared room and collapsed face-first onto her bed.

"You aren't tired, are you?" Maleficent quipped and Rose's heart jolted in surprise. It wasn't that she hadn't expected Maleficent to be there—where else would she be? It was that Rose had forgotten how close together their small beds were: there wasn't even a gap between them. Maleficent's voice seemed to come from directly above her, but when Rose propped herself up to investigate the matter, she found that Maleficent sat a perfectly innocuous distance away, propped up against her headboard, reading a book by (magically enhanced) candlelight.

Rose wasn't certain what made her avoid meeting Maleficent's eyes. She felt suddenly shy. "I'm supposed to review healing spells," she said pointlessly.

"I'd suggest you comply," Maleficent replied, and Rose found herself examining the shape of Maeficent's lips as she spoke. They were no longer even slightly twisted or swollen. On the contrary, they were quite lovely. "I'm sure you can imagine how kindly Mistress Zenovia would take to negligence."

"When did you study with her?" Rose wondered, still not quite able to meet Maleficent's eyes as she pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing at the lingering pain from what she supposed qualified as a mildly successful battle.

"The first time was when I was thirteen. The second was about a decade after that."

"What happened after the first time?"

"She sent me away after a little over a year."

Rose's eyes widened in shock, and she looked up from the wound on her left arm. "Why?"

"I was 'too anxious and paranoid to be teachable,'" Maleficent replied impassively.

"I must admit," said Rose, returning her attention to healing herself, "I can't imagine you being anxious or paranoid—at least not without good reason."

"I imagine that was an understatement, actually," said Maleficent.

"When did you grow out of it?"

"To be perfectly honest," Maleficent began, and Rose could feel Maleficent's eyes on her, "I think I merely learned to hide it better."

Rose looked up again. "Oh," she offered weakly. She still found the idea unfathomable. Even now, stripped of her usual overwhelming glory, her body in even worse condition than it had been when Rose first laid eyes on her, Maleficent exuded power. Rose could not imagine what might cause Maleficent all-consuming anxiety.

As Maleficent returned her attention to the book in her lap, Rose grabbed one of Zenovia's books and flipped through it in search of one which would heal the shooting pain in her leg. Unfortunately, her concentration was severely lacking, and this book was still a bit above her reading level.

She had suddenly remembered the multitude of revealing conversations she'd had with Kinsale about Maleficent, and she felt a giddy sort of relief for tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto. Rose had believed she would never get to speak with Maleficent again, and she'd had so many questions she believed would never be truly and conclusively answered.

"May I ask you something?"

"You may."

Rose focused her eyes on the page she was only half-reading. "Is it true that your mother sometimes kept you in chains for no reason?"

There was a moment's silence, then, "Yes."

Rose took a moment to process this information, and she found that it still deeply upset her. She supposed she'd tried to block the disturbing image from her mind in the time since she'd first heard of it from Kinsale. If Maleficent were anyone else, Rose would have reached out to her and tried to offer some sort of comfort, but she could think of nothing to do or say which would be of any help. After a moment, she moved onto her next question. "Is it true that she murdered your sisters?"

"Yes."

Rose clutched the cover of Zenovia's book. She thought of the pretty bedrooms in Maleficent's home in the Dragon Country...of the intricately fashioned dresses...of the second edition of Mistress Acacia dedicated to Maleficent's middle sister.

She knew what question she had to ask next, and it caused bile to rise in her throat. But she must know, for so many reasons, and so she swallowed hard and tried to speak more firmly than she felt.

"Did you kill her?"

Maleficent's answer came quickly. "No," she said, and Rose almost let the book fall from her hands in relief. "Though I expect every fairy alive at the time still believes I did."

"What happened?" asked Rose, daring to look up.

"I sent her away," said Maleficent. "I promised if I ever saw her again I would kill her."

"But you never did," she confirmed.

"How would you feel if I had?" Maleficent wondered, quirking one eyebrow.

Rose looked away again. "I don't know," she said, her stomach twisting. "I'm so confused about so many things these days. I...I don't know."

"Don't work yourself up over nothing, Rose," said Maleficent. "I was only curious. I didn't see her again until I was imprisoned in Sara's dungeon."

"Wait…so she's still alive? Why did Sara imprison your mother?" Could it have been for the murder of Maleficent's sisters? That seemed too good to be true.

"For masquerading as a human, I suppose," Maleficent replied. She was still apparently reading—or at least doing a better job of pretending than Rose ever could. "That's what she'd been doing for upwards of a century. I expect it was merely an added bonus that she was my mother. Sara used her to bait me and then promptly burnt her at the stake. To answer your previous question, no, she isn't alive any longer."

"I…" Rose began, but again found herself at a loss. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be."

"But wait…Sara baited you? You mean…she tricked you and captured you?" This, too, seemed impossible. Maleficent was frightfully intelligent and she did not trust easily. Rose assumed that no one could play a trick on her.

"She'd have had to," Maleficent replied. "Sara alone would be no match for me—I doubt she's fought a proper duel in centuries."

"But how did she manage it?"

Maleficent returned her attention to her book. "She didn't have to try very hard at all," she said quietly. "Sara decided I must despise my mother enough to overlook a very obvious set-up and, unfortunately, she was correct."

That wasn't precisely an answer, but Rose decided not to push the topic. She turned her attention back to the book of healing spells, flipping page after page in search of the spell that would ease the pain in her knee.

After months of longing for just one conversation with Maleficent, even one which ended in the usual tense misunderstanding, this one had been surprisingly civil and informative thus far. Rose didn't want to risk pushing Maleficent too far so that she was no longer willing to talk. She was no longer under the foolish delusion that she might slowly and carefully coax Maleficent out of her shell. If even a fraction of what Rose had recently learned about Maleficent's life was true, Maleficent deserved to have a shell.

Rose was quickly beginning to feel panicked, and she flipped pages so quickly that she couldn't have even read any of the words if she tried. The pain in her knee did not ebb at all with time, and Rose began to spiral back into the catastrophic depression she had felt several times today as she was reminded of how dire her circumstances had been only yesterday.

Rose had been in such agony that death would have been a mercy. She'd believed Maleficent to be dead and Kinsale to be soon to follow. She'd believed herself doomed to a life of misery bordering upon madness. Before she had been freed, she'd genuinely believed that there was nothing left for her in this world.

She felt a cold hand on her wrist and flinched in surprise, looking up to meet Maleficent's black eyes. Maleficent was unnervingly close to her, and Rose found it suddenly very difficult to breathe.

"Are you looking for something?" Maleficent asked her softly.

"Zenovia hit me in the knee," she said hurriedly. "It isn't a scratch, though...something internal. I don't know how to fix it."

Maleficent glanced down at the book. "Try a summoning spell, emphasizing an important word...internal, perhaps."

Rose glanced fearfully from Maleficent back to the book several times before she was able to calm herself enough to heed Maleficent's advice. Sure enough, a summoning spell caused the book to turn immediately to the page she needed. Rose ran her hand over her knee several times and, slowly, but noticeably, the pain ebbed away into relief.

"Thank you," she said, leaning back against the headboard of her bed with a deep sigh.

"You're welcome," Maleficent replied. "Zenovia moves very quickly. It will be difficult, but you'll soon find you learn very quickly."

"I ought to have asked for your help more often."

"I think it was wise of you to try to learn on your own," said Maleficent, and Rose looked over at her in surprise.

"Wise?"

"Yes, wise," Maleficent repeated. "It would have been incredibly difficult for you to hold onto your convictions with constant instruction from me. Perhaps you haven't noticed considering the direness of my recent circumstances, but generally I have a bit of a knack for convincing people to see things my way."

Like most things Maleficent said, Rose realized, this brief explanation was riddled with many layers of information she hadn't explicitly given. Maleficent's recent circumstances, in her mind, probably encompassed the entire time Rose had known her. The first time Rose had encountered her, Maleficent had been injured and Chained, and here she was again having narrowly escaped death. How differently would Rose view Maleficent, she wondered, if she had been in full possession of her formidable capabilities throughout the entirety of their acquaintance?

This was also the second time today that a piece of information about Maleficent which Rose had already known had resurfaced and shocked her. Rose could remember her realization that Maleficent had easily manipulated Rose into setting her free, and she could remember constantly reminding herself to be wary, but she'd been rather quickly and helplessly drawn in. It was only by chance that Maleficent either did not want to harm her any longer or had chosen not to because Rose had saved her life. Otherwise, Rose realized with a start, she would have been easy prey.

"Maleficent?" she spoke before she could think better of it.

"Yes?"

Rose closed her eyes. "When did you stop wanting me to die?"

There was another long silence. Finally, Maleficent spoke. "I can't remember. I can't even remember what it was like to want you to die...perhaps because it was never you. It was the infant. Then the princess."

"One could argue that that's far worse than wishing death upon me."

"One could argue many things," Maleficent replied evenly. "Do you intend to?"

Rose opened her eyes and stared steadfastly at the opposing wall. "A baby is pure. A baby is...uncorrupted...by the world."

"And purity is to be valued and protected above all else?" Maleficent countered easily. Rose did not look, but she imagined Maleficent was still reading while she spoke. "Above someone who, for example, has experienced a fair amount of the world's horrors, and yet retains her uncommonly kind heart? Is that your argument?"

"That's an awfully lenient assessment of my character," said Rose uneasily. Thoughts she had tried to push to the back of her mind began slowly, steadfastly creeping to the forefront.

"How would you assess your character?" Maleficent wondered.

Rose pulled her knees up against her chest. "I don't know. Frightened. Confused. Hurt." She squeezed her eyes closed again. The last word, perhaps the most important, the most pervasive, clung to her lips. She knew she must say it, and yet she dared only whisper it, and only to Maleficent, who might understand...or who at least wouldn't care. "Angry."

As soon as she had choked out the word, Rose began to cry from sheer relief at having finally spoken it aloud, having finally named that swirling, churning monster which sometimes took hold of her and made her unrecognizable to herself, as unrecognizable as the image of Princess Aurora she'd once seen looking back at her from the mirror.

She felt the ghost of fingertips, feather-light upon her shoulder and almost familiar to her, and without hesitation, Rose launched herself at Maleficent. Maleficent flinched in surprise, but she caught Rose in her arms and held her while she cried helplessly against the thick, black fabric of Maleficent's dress.

"I'm so angry," she sobbed. "I've been so angry for so long, and I—I—I couldn't..."

Maleficent stroked Rose's hair, which was no longer falling out, until she calmed down somewhat, but Rose did not let go.

"May I ask you a question?" Maleficent said softly, sounding almost hesitant.

Rose was so surprised that it took her a moment to respond. "Of course."

"Why are you telling me this as though it isn't my fault?"

Rose pulled away from Maleficent, but her hands still clutched Maleficent's dress. "I don't know," she replied, her voice still heavy with the echo of her tears. "Perhaps because I don't want it to be. Perhaps because you're the only person I know who can understand it."

"Anger?"

Rose nodded. She still could not bring herself to let go of Maleficent.

Once again surprising her, Maleficent caught Rose's chin between her fingers and willed her to look up. "Well," she said. "I can certainly understand anger." With her other hand, she wiped away Rose's tears.

"So let me see if I follow," she said almost lightly. "You're angry, but not with me, the cause of all of your misery. You're not angry with me..." her brow furrowed so subtly that Rose would not have noticed it if she were not a breath away. "You're not angry with me...because you need someone who can understand your anger on some level. And I am your best option at the moment. Does that sound accurate?"

Rose found that a small smile was tugging at her lips. "Far more accurate than anything I've been able to come up with," she said.

Maleficent nodded curtly, but her expression retained a shadow of concern. "Very well, then," she said. "Now, study. I'd hate for Zenovia to break your leg tomorrow."

Admittedly somewhat spurred on by the idea of having her leg broken by Mistress Zenovia, Rose tried valiantly to study which healing spells went with which kinds of wounds, practicing them on the many remaining bruises and scratches on her own body.

When she came to the spell for burns, though, Rose was again overcome by fears and questions and possible answers which gave way to more fears and more questions. She stared miserably at the page for several minutes before she spoke. "Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"May I, ah...may I borrow your arm for a moment?"

Maleficent looked up from her book and quirked an eyebrow at Rose. Rose smiled sheepishly and tapped the spellbook with her fingertips.

"Very well," said Maleficent after a short pause. She shifted her book to her other knee and offered Rose her left arm.

Rose took Maleficent's wrist gingerly in her hand and examined the many red, blistered patches of skin which erupted all along the greyish skin of Maleficent's arm. She found that a lump had formed in her throat, and her free hand ghosted over one of the burns as though she might somehow heal it by wishing alone. She could feel Maleficent's eyes watching her raptly, though, and she quickly glanced back at the spell for confirmation.

Rose closed her eyes for a moment and tried to concentrate—she tried to ignore the feeling of Maleficent staring at her and the horrifying mental images of some faceless person setting Maleficent on fire, goading her to beg for death. As a tear streamed down her cheek, though, she finally managed enough concentration to gather her magic into her fingertips, and she ran them as lightly as possible over the worst of the burns on Maleficent's arm.

To her immense surprise, after a few tries, the angry blisters shrank and the violent redness faded into a faint rosy grey. Rose glanced up at Maleficent, whose eyes were afire despite her neutral expression. "Did it work?" she asked timidly.

"You can see the evidence for yourself, can you not?" Maleficent asked her crisply.

Rose tilted her head, "Not much use if it doesn't feel any better."

Maleficent averted her eyes, only for an instant, and then they were back, still more intense than before. "It does," she said, surreptitiously withdrawing her arm. "Thank you."

Against her better judgement, Rose caught Maleficent's hand before she could pull away. Her stomach lurched as she was reminded of the surge of fury which had driven her to snap Philip's wrist, and she quickly let go of Maleficent's hand and backed away as far as was possible.

"Is something the matter?"

"I could have..." Rose murmured, shaking her head. "No, I couldn't really have, I don't think, but I..."

Rose looked at her hands. Her wrists were still bone-thin and her right arm still bore a bright red scar, but her hands were unscathed. They looked like her hands. There was no indication in the way they looked that they could snap the wrist of a strong, healthy young man who...who certainly tried to care for her, if perhaps he hadn't been very successful.

"There was a moment. A second. An instant, really," said Rose, still staring at her hands. "I could have...Philip. I could have...killed him," she sobbed the last words, doubling over into herself with the force of them, as she once again confessed to Maleficent what she would never,  _could_ never confess to anyone else. "I could have done it, oh God, I could have done it, and I...I would have..."

Rose swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around her knees in an attempt to hold herself together. "I would have hated myself," she continued quietly. "If I had killed him, I would never have stopped hating myself for it, but... But when I..." again Rose had to stop and swallow the bile rising in her throat "...when I snapped his wrist, I... I enjoyed it."

Rose's head suddenly snapped up in a panic only to find Maleficent gazing calmly back at her. Rose's heart was racing and tears were still streaming down her cheeks. She didn't know what she was hoping to find in Maleficent's eyes...perhaps it was what she couldn't find in her own heart: forgiveness. Understanding.

"I enjoyed that I was inflicting pain on him. I enjoyed that he might feel a...a fraction of the pain he caused me," she breathed, horrified, but unable to stop herself. She had to get the words out. She had to speak them aloud, or they would remain forever trapped inside her head, echoing over and over until she couldn't escape them.

"What would you have me say?" Maleficent asked her quietly. There was no malice in her voice. It was not a challenge or a threat.

Rose shook her head listlessly. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I do wish you'd stop apologizing to me. You haven't done anything."

"I'm sorry," Rose repeated. With another sob, she lay her head on her knees.

After a few moments, she felt Maleficent's fingertips at her temple and she leaned into the touch desperately. When Maleficent spoke, her voice was like a distant dream. "I told you once before: you must find peace with yourself. I can't give that to you any more than the Good Fairies or Prince Philip could."

Rose cringed at the mention of Philip's name. Maleficent made to retract her hand, but Rose quickly caught it and held it against her cheek.

"I could tell you it's all right," Maleficent continued after a moment's pause. "I could use your conflicted emotions to coerce you into becoming the sort of...vindictive person who inflicts pain on others to distract herself from the misery in her own heart." Maleficent's free hand cupped the other side of Rose's face, and though her expression remained neutral, there was a chilling sadness shining in her black eyes. "You'd grow to despise me for it. As well you should. Yet..." Maleficent's dramatic eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "I should find such a circumstance most undesirable."

Rose looked up, wide-eyed, as she turned the strange sentence over and over in her brain.  _You don't want me to despise you?_ she wanted to echo stupidly, but caught herself. "I wasn't expecting an answer," she said, feeling considerably less panicked than she had a moment prior. "It's only...all these thoughts get trapped inside my head, and it's very difficult to make sense of any of them. It's much better to say them aloud. They feel more real that way, and I stop feeling like I've gone completely mad."

Maleficent nodded slowly. "I see." She dropped her hands from Rose's face, but Rose held onto them.

Rose looked down and squeezed Maleficent's hands, and she let out a strangled half-chuckle. "But I suppose it's a bit late for that," she said quietly. "This whole adventure has been madness."

Maleficent didn't speak, and Rose couldn't quite bring herself to look away from Maleficent's hands in hers. When she closed her eyes, she saw the prisoner in the dungeon of King Stefan's castle who terrified just as much as she captivated. Rose swallowed back another rush of tears as she tried to understand why, of all the things she could possibly feel towards Maleficent, who should by all accounts be her mortal enemy, she must feel such fierce, foolish devotion.

"I could..." Maleficent began, and Rose looked up. Maleficent averted her eyes. "I could hide you away, you know. If you wished it. I could place you under a...under a proper sleeping spell...until the war is over. You would be safe and blameless, and you'd be free to live whatever life you choose when the world is safe again, no matter what happens. Free of your aunts, free of your husband and your kingdom, free of me and my kin..."

Suddenly Maleficent turned her eyes back on Rose, and Rose struggled to swallow. "Wasn't that the reason you set me free? That you might pursue your own freedom?"

Rose realized she must look slightly stricken, and she knew Maleficent would probably vastly misinterpret her facial expression, but she didn't have the wherewithal to try to disguise the rush of conflicting emotions flooding through her. Half-consciously, she allowed Maleficent's hands to fall from hers, and her hands hovered uselessly in the space between them, grasping for words that wouldn't come.

"You would have died," she said listlessly.

"And you couldn't have allowed it?" Maleficent countered, darkly. "Not even for an instant? Not even long enough that I might feel a fraction of the pain I caused you?"

Rose blinked several times and shook her head, still feeling vaguely lost. "No."

Maleficent took Rose's right wrist in her hand and Rose looked down at it in a vain attempt to stop herself from staring at nothing. Maleficent traced a long finger lightly over the angry red scar that still lingered on Rose's wrist, even after she'd managed to heal her many other injuries.

"I couldn't get rid of it," Rose offered weakly.

"Much of magic hinges upon intent," Maleficent replied quietly.

"I thought..." Rose began, but she choked on the words.  _I thought I had lost everything. I thought there was no hope left for me. I thought you were dead, I thought Kinsale was gone, I thought my feeble excuse for freedom was nothing but a distant dream...I thought I was doomed to exist in a nightmare for the rest of my miserable, insignificant little life..._

Rose's eyes drifted over Maleficent's arms, still covered in healing burn marks. They caught on her wrists, which still bore the telltale purplish bruises left by the Chains. She was suddenly surrounded with searing clarity by the sound of Maleficent's voice, though only a distant memory...something Maleficent had told her forever ago, when they'd barely known one another at all.

_It is possible that there are worse fates than death, but to die is never to know what could have been._

Again, Rose's eyes drifted to the small scar on her own wrist. "I'm not you," she whispered at last. "I can't...I can't stare hopelessness in the face and carry on the way you can." She swallowed hard, but a few tears still streamed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

With her free hand, Maleficent brushed away Rose's tears. "I wasn't looking to shame you," she said. "Only to understand."

"To understand?" Rose looked up at her, almost defiantly. "Why someone would give up willingly what you would never?"

"No, no," Maleficent shook her head. "No hypotheticals. Why you, specifically, wouldn't value the sanctity of your own life as you value that of others."

"Perhaps I've changed," said Rose, lifting her chin. "Perhaps I'm not the same girl who values life so highly."

Maleficent averted her eyes and nodded. "Perhaps," she agreed.

The word caused Rose's heart to wrench painfully in her chest. "Are you going to hate me for it, too?" she half-sobbed. "For changing?"

Maleficent's eyes met Rose's once more. "Of course not."

Rose shook her head. "Then why does any of this matter to you? Why do you care that I would snap Philip's neck or slit my own wrists before I allowed you to die? Why can't you just quietly pity me my foolishness like everyone else?"

Maleficent's grip on Rose's wrist suddenly tightened and her eyes lit up. "Because it doesn't make any sense!" she cried. "Does it not matter to you? Does it not concern you that you would lay down your life before someone who once viewed the entirety of your existence as little more than collateral damage?"

Rose tried to withdraw her hand, but Maleficent's grip did not loosen. "You wouldn't have done it. Not really. Not in the end."

"Are you certain of that?" Maleficent sneered. "Have you, in your Chained delirium, somehow managed to convince yourself of my innate goodness? My innate purity of heart, which in your mind is to be protected above all else? How fortunate for me, that I should somehow have made my way into your fickle good graces, princess!" Maleficent threw Rose's hand away from herself and backed away as far as was possible, somehow still managing to look regal and imposing while perched on a tiny bed, on her recently-healed knees.

"And how fortunate for you," she continued, her eyes glowing ominously, "that your life did not interfere with my revised plans for revenge against your mother. Otherwise, I swear to you, I would have killed you."

Rose shook her head, tears flowing unchecked down her face. "I don't believe you."

Maleficent's lip curled. "And I wouldn't have lost a moment's sleep over it!"

"No!" Rose repeated miserably. "No. I won't believe it!"

"And why not, I wonder?" Maleficent snarled, and Rose shivered involuntarily. "Does it interfere with your vision of me as somehow better than those who would oppress you? Does it render me suddenly unworthy of your sacrifice?"

Rose covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob and she tried to regain control of herself. A part of her—a very small and very feeble part that did not very much like to fight to be heard—was trying to tell her that Maleficent was trying to push her away again, and that if she could somehow find a way to regain control of the situation, it might do both of them a great deal of good.

The rest of her, however, was spiraling into chaos. She saw very clearly in her mind two different portraits of Maleficent: one painted by her aunts and by the Eastern Kingdom, and one painted by Rose. In the first, Maleficent was a wretched monster, all sharp angles and harsh words and careless detachment from the dispensable lives of humans she played like pawns in a game of chess. In the second, she was a fallen angel, tragically beautiful, a reserved and rigid, bookish sort of person who was painfully shy in so many ways, and who was so completely unable to understand why anyone would care for her that she lashed out fiercely at anyone who dared try.

Rose's head began to ache in its frenzied attempt to reconcile these two versions of Maleficent, to determine which parts of each were true, or if she was both, or if she was neither...while that small, nagging voice in the back of Rose's head urged her to say something sensible, something that might get through to the raging monster before her.

"Maleficent," Rose said quietly. It took every ounce of courage she had to look Maleficent in the eyes, but she did it. "When did you start wanting me to live?"

Maleficent stared at her, wide-eyed and still showing her teeth, looking not unlike a wild animal. "What in Hell's name is that supposed to mean?"

"It's...well, it's one thing to stop actively wanting me to die," Rose said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "It's one thing to be neutral. I want to know...I'm asking when you started caring whether I lived or died."

"What makes you think I ever did?" Maleficent shot back coldly.

Rose frowned, which was probably made slightly less intimidating by her tear-stained cheeks and trembling lower lip. "You care about the scar on my wrist," she said. "You care enough to...to offer me a way out of this mess."

Maleficent's frown was far more effective. "Suppose I want to be rid of you."

The words stung, but for some strange and possibly suicidal reason, Rose refused to heed them. She steeled herself against Maleficent's icy glare and tried to gather her thoughts into some kind of counter-argument. What she said was not entirely intentional, and it was extremely reckless. It was the sort of thing Maleficent could correctly guess about Rose, but it was by no means the sort of thing Rose could correctly guess about anyone.

"Tell me you deliberately scared me away months ago because you wanted to be rid of me," she said as firmly as she could manage. The bite in her words was completely dampened by the tearful warble in her voice. "Tell me you hoped you would never see me again."

Against all odds, the fire in Maleficent's eyes was suddenly extinguished, and the rigidity of her angular shoulders softened ever so slightly. "I did," she said quietly.

The obvious truth in her words struck Rose like a blow to the stomach, and she collapsed against the wall in something rather close to abject despair.

"I hoped you would go to Kinsale, or back to the Eastern Kingdom, somewhere away from me...and away from danger. I can't..." she shook her head and looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. "I can't give you anything that you need. Friendship...kindness...comfort..." she swallowed audibly "Affection... I know a great deal about a great many things," she looked up, her eyes filled once more with heart-wrenching sadness, "but I know nothing of those."

"That isn't true," said Rose, reaching out ineffectually and, as usual, falling short.

Maleficent averted her eyes. "The point is that I scared you away because I knew I was going to die, and I also knew that you might be deluded enough to try to save my miserable life once more if you found out about it."

Rose took a moment to consider this. "You knew you were going to die," she echoed.

Maleficent nodded.

"So you..." she shook her head. Strangely, she wasn't angry, or even upset. She supposed she might be fresh out of emotions for today. "You're as bad as them, that's what you are," she muttered, and the twisted sentiment made her smile, which was closely followed by a yawn. That was a battle for another day, for Rose's mind could barely wrap itself around such a convoluted revelation.

Rose spoke slowly and carefully. She didn't want to be unclear. "Perhaps in the beginning I saved you because I would have saved anyone," she said. "And perhaps...in the beginning...you didn't kill me because of a technicality." Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. "Now...now it's possible I wouldn't save just anyone...I don't know anymore...but would you kill me now, if you had the opportunity?"

Maleficent looked up at her, mildly alarmed and very confused. "No."

"The point I was going to make," she continued, feeling significantly calmer than she had when she'd been trying to make it, "was that just as your feelings for me must have changed, at least a little bit, so have mine for you. That is...I would still lay down my life for yours, not because I am foolish and sentimental, but because...you are you, and I am I...no matter how we've changed in the meantime. I don't know how to make it any clearer than that."

Maleficent stared at her for several seconds. "One could argue that such a conviction is foolish and sentimental by its very nature."

Feeling very daring, possibly because she had completely exhausted her entire emotional spectrum, Rose quirked one eyebrow at Maleficent. "Do you intend to?" she asked, privately hoping that Maleficent did not take her seriously, as she was very certain that she was far too tired to field any more fearsome outbursts this evening.

Fortunately, Maleficent's eyes twinkled and her expression softened into her usual neutral, which looked to the casual observer something like haughty disapproval. "I would," she said lightly, "but it's very late. And as I said, I would hate to see Zenovia break your leg later today."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Rose's mouth. "How very sweet of you."

Maleficent's lip curled. "Allow me to rephrase," she said, rearranging herself under the covers of her small bed with no awkwardness whatsoever, despite her lanky frame. "Your screams of agony would not be conducive to restful slumber."

To Maleficent's obvious chagrin, Rose's smile widened. "Ah, yes," she agreed, tucking herself into her own bed with considerably less grace. "Heaven forbid I should disrupt your beauty sleep,  _princess_."

For a split second, just before Maleficent rolled her eyes and turned onto her other side with a huff of indignation which abruptly extinguished all of the candles in the room, Rose was absolutely certain she'd seen Maleficent smiling back.


	19. The Human Spirit

**Chapter 19 — The Human Spirit**

Queen Titania had seen Mistress Sara of the Kingdom by the Sea looking positively incensed on multiple occasions. Sara was a hot-headed fairy in her way. She was strong in her convictions, and Titania had always appreciated that about her.

She couldn't put her finger on why exactly this occasion was different from all the others, but that fact kept presenting it to her in small, ineffable ways, and the knowledge troubled her.

"Mistress Maleficent?" Titania echoed, brow furrowed. "I was under the impression that she had been executed for her crimes against humanity."

"Who gave you that impression?"

"You did."

"She was obviously kept alive for a short time in the hopes of acquiring information," said Sara with a dismissive gesture.

"And did you?" Titania raised her eyebrows.

"Nothing of any use. My theory is that she acted as a sort of decoy."

"Maleficent acted as a decoy. I'm afraid that's a bit of a leap for me to make, Sara." Mistress Sara was the sort of person whose brain often worked much faster than her mouth. Sometimes the things she said were disjointed and nonsensical if one did not have the proper context.

Sara closed her eyes for a moment in an attempt to slow her rapid fire thoughts. "Her defiance of the Chains was an act, a means of diverting attention from the real problem."

"Yes, I understood that much. What is the real problem?"

"The wicked fae are gathering forces, with the intention of initiating a full war against the righteous fae."

The animosity was nothing new, of course. With the scope of millennia as her guide she could see the ways it ebbed and flowed over time. The current flow was cause for concern, certainly, but not such an immediate one as Sara seemed to indicate. Petty battles had been waged countless times before, to little lasting consequence, some by Sara, herself.

Still, it was unusual that so many on either side of the conflict would seek to involve Titania's influence in the matter. Her counselor was busy weeding through the better part of the correspondence—that was to be expected—but personal visits begged closer inspection.

First had come the meeting with Kinsale in place of Joy, now this accusation from Sara. Neither was a fairy who took such accusations lightly, and Titania was willing to consider that each had a unique and extensive background which granted her considerable insight into the workings of the Earth beneath them. But the pieces did not fit.

"Wicked fairies aren't well-known for gathering forces, Sara," she pointed out.

"Not large forces." Sara waved her hand at her side, a small, knee-jerk sort of movement. "Small groups, the way they prefer."

"Do you have evidence of this?"

Sara produced a pile of letters. Titania's first thought was to indicate that her counselor was the one to see about piles of letters, but she imagined Sara would not take kindly to such a dismissal. Titania suppressed a sigh as she took them and began leafing through. They were personal correspondences, riddled with pleasantries, that did not seem to say anything of note. She looked up at Sara in a silent question. The pieces did not fit.

"Fourth paragraph," Sara said by way of response.

"Which brings me to the purpose of my letter," Titania murmured aloud. "I would be most grateful if you would join me for a small get together at my home in the Valley Kingdom. Next week should do quite nicely, but do not fear if you arrive fashionably late. I expect that this party will last a long while."

Titania flipped through the letters. The fourth paragraph of each one said something similar. She continued idly flipping through the letters for a few moments, contemplating. "You understand, Sara, that if there is a war on Earth, I shall have to withdraw my support from you and your colleagues until it is settled."

"Officially."

"And unofficially," said Titania firmly.

Sara seemed somewhat taken aback and she took a few moments to decide what to say. "Your Majesty, I certainly understand the reasoning behind such an action, but the conflict Kinsale is initiating is entirely unprovoked."

Titania raised her eyebrows. "I think Kinsale would disagree with you," she replied.

Sara's eyes flashed. "You would defend a wicked fairy who aided in the torture of an innocent human?"

"Sara, please." Titania touched two fingers to her temple and closed her eyes for a moment. The idea of Kinsale, who was as fond of humans as any good fairy, tormenting one was positively bizarre.

"What of the Eastern Princess?"

"What of her?" Titania opened her eyes.

Sara was incredulous. "The one against whom Maleficent's crimes were committed?"

"Yes, I'm familiar," said the Queen crisply. The pieces were beginning to fit, but they did not paint a flattering portrait. Sara was beginning to seem rather obsessed with what seemed to Titania to be a matter under the jurisdiction of the Eastern Good Fairies. "I was under the impression that the princess had been safely returned to her kingdom."

Sara's eyes flashed. "There were complications."

"Mistress Sara," said Titania, tossing the pile of letters back to her, "if you insist upon continuing to use my time with this matter, I should like to be fully informed."

Sara raised an eyebrow. A less subtle or reverent woman might have openly balked. "Maleficent kidnapped the princess and held her hostage for several months. Mistress Kinsale of the Valley was her accomplice. According to one of my women, during that time, one or both of them taught the princess a rudimentary understanding of wicked fairy magic. They also seemed to have convinced her to trust them, and she fought against her rescuers."

"So she was not returned to her kingdom as you told me?" asked Titania, raising one eyebrow.

"She was," Sara continued, "but the woman who did the job proved a firebrand, did a messy job of it from what I understand. The princess was kidnapped once more, or has, at any rate, disappeared from the castle. I believe they intend to train her as a soldier for their cause. It's possible they could similarly recruit other humans to use as a sort of front line."

Titania considered this. "Most humans aren't capable," she said. "The only humans who could harness such power are royals who have received magical gifts at their christenings and humans with fairy ancestors. That's not a very large potential pool of soldiers, and we have eyes on all such persons. At least," she added pointedly, "I thought that was the case. I am far more interested in why this wicked fairy whom you deemed a danger to society as we know it was allowed to live."

Sara's eyes flashed again. "It wasn't my intention, Your Majesty, obviously."

Titania inclined her head studiously. "I wonder, Mistress Sara, how you can call yourself a leader when so many things under your command do not happen as you intend them."

Sara all but glared at her. "The true threat, as I've been trying to explain to you, is the combination of the two–Maleficent and Kinsale."

"Hm."

"She is very crafty in her calculated kindness, and many underestimate her because of iit," Sara continued. There was that little twitch in her hand again, as though she meant to gesticulate but kept it to herself. "But her powers are not to be trifled with. Perhaps most importantly, there are good fairies and even humans who call her a friend."

"Does it occur to you, Sara, that perhaps she is truly friendly?"

Sara did not acknowledge her comment. "Kinsale is the only person I've been able to discern as being a friend and peer to Maleficent. The story of what became of her family is common knowledge. She slaughtered at least half a dozen male fairies in her travels, and spent a brief time studying under Zenovia, but she stayed with Kinsale for a time out of friendship. More probably because they were lovers, but my point stands: Maleficent does not have many close bonds in this world.

"Now consider that they are friends or lovers. Maleficent is tried for her crimes in the Eastern Kingdom and mysteriously escapes the Chains of Avasina, but she has done such a murderously good job of covering her tracks that no one realizes she had an accomplice. It makes a great deal more sense, though, that Kinsale should have used one of her many non-wicked connections to free her friend or lover, and then aided her in keeping the princess hostage, does it not?"

The Queen nodded, heaving an imperceptible sigh. In her mind she allowed the pieces she had been presented with to fall apart and rearrange themselves.

The fact was that Sara's argument was sound–far sounder than Kinsale's–and her conjecture made much more sense than any other explanation Titania had thus far been offered. It was rather too bad, for Kinsale did seem genuinely personable, and though Titania had once deeply admired Sara, she was beginning to grate upon Titania's considerable patience. Put simply, she didn't want Sara to be right, but history suggested that she was.

"If indeed a war is at hand," said Titania slowly, "I expect you shall have enough to worry about without involving yourself further in this matter. At the moment I deem the idea of multiple human soldiers as extremely unlikely. It sounds more like the princess is still involved in some more small-scale plot. I shall discuss both points with my council tomorrow morning."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, if human lives are at stake, I shall not wait for a verdict from your council."

Titania raised one eyebrow. "Are you questioning my adherence to the law, Sara?"

Sara's fists clenched at her sides. "I am questioning your application of the intention behind the law."

Titania stood from her chair, slowly, so as not to invite misinterpretation from her hot-headed associate. "And what is that?"

Sara gazed at her in disbelief for several seconds, before replying flatly. "We must protect human lives before our own when they become involved in our affairs." Parroted, directly out of a textbook.

"But why?" Titania challenged her.

Sara closed her eyes briefly, then began rambling off information she had most likely learned by rote in her youth. "The righteous fae are called upon to protect human lives because wicked fairies cannot see their value," she parroted, waving a hand at her side. "Humans possess wisdom that fairies cannot hope to achieve, but because they are weaker and their lives are shorter, wicked fairies cannot understand the value of their wisdom...they must—"

Titania held up her hand. "You're speaking words you hardly understand, Sara. It is  _because_  human lives are shorter and more fragile than ours that they possess, not only wisdom, but passion which all fairies struggle either to experience or to comprehend. Do you understand that?" Sara's expression remained neutral, her eyes blank. "Think of the first eighty years of your life, Sara."

Sara opened her mouth as though to protest, closed it again, averted her eyes to some imagined point upon the wall. In fact, Titania did not know what Sara had been doing for the first eighty years of her life, except that she'd been born to magically-insignificant parents in the Sea Kingdom, and spent some time studying in the Sky Dominion.

Sara had not come to the attention of anyone of much import until she had been around one hundred and fifty, and at that time, she had been the one attempting to gather forces.

"Now," said Titania, after a moment's silence, "suppose in your eightieth year, you had died."

Sara's eyes snapped back to her, quietly incensed.

"What would you have accomplished?" Titania pressed.

Sara's expression remained just barely neutral, but for a small furrowing of her brow. "I would have traveled a great deal, I suppose. Little else."

The Queen nodded. "Suppose that you knew from your earliest youth that you would die in eighty years. Suppose you knew that eighty years was the longest you could possibly hope to live, and that you might well die long before then for any number of reasons."

Sara inclined her head. "Suppose I were human," she said flatly. "But I am not."

Titania ignored her. "Would you have lived your first eighty years differently, Sara, if you knew they would be all you had?"

Sara clenched her fists at her side. "Of course I would," she showed her temper at last. "I'd do more, faster. With all due respect, Your Majesty, what is the point of this exercise?"

Titania nodded again, slowly. "Some humans do more, faster," she agreed, as calmly as she could manage in the face of Sara's insolence, "especially when they're young." She descended from her throne to approach Sara, meant to subtly remind her of their disparity in magical power, but found that Sara met her gaze evenly despite the way rage seemed to crackle all over her, just beneath the surface, threatening to explode.

"Most humans," Titania continued, quieter now, "eventually decide it's better to find a handful of things that matter most to them, and to devote themselves to those things, instead."

Sara's gaze remained steely, and the furrow in her brow smoothed, but she said nothing.

"My point, Sara," and Titania almost reached out to her, almost placed a hand upon her shoulder, but thought better of it just now, "is that when a human cares deeply about something, it is worth noting. That human doesn't have thousands of years. She can't care about one thing for the first eighty and then move onto something else."

Sara leaned in, ever so slightly, such a subtle change that even the Fairy Queen might have missed it if she'd been farther away. "What exactly are you getting at, Majesty?" Sara wondered, with an edge to her words that caused Titania to bristle.

Titania straightened her shoulders, folded her wings at her back, peered down her nose at Sara even though they now stood around the same height. "From this moment forward, Sara," she said coolly, "please leave the matter of the human princess to me."

Sara's eyes widened. She inhaled as though to speak.

"You're dismissed." the Queen held up a hand.

* * *

For several minutes, Fauna gazed in horror at the empty spot on Rose's bed. With a kind of hazy lethargy, she sank onto the edge of the bed and cradled her head in her hands.

She wished her life could be simple again. She'd had chances to break free of the fate that had been assigned to her before, and she had almost taken them. But she'd always remembered before it was too late that she would do best to choose duty and security over some half-formed notion of living truthfully. She ought to have known not to get involved with wicked fairies. That was where the trouble had started. The instant you got involved with wicked fairies, it was too late for you. There was no time to reconsider your priorities.

Fauna's head began to ache as she considered how she could proceed. Her own life was already in ruins, and she feared Rose might be very nearly beyond help, as well. Rose didn't realize it yet–she didn't see that to involve oneself with wicked fairies meant certain doom for her. The only way Fauna could see to even try to save her was to get her to realize the danger she was in, but she had no idea how.

Sometimes, secretly, she wished she were clever and conniving like Maleficent. She wished she could give people a quick once-over and see their every hope and fear. Maleficent had won Rose over because she could see that about people. She could see what Rose wanted and she could offer it. Fauna, it had been proven very clearly, had no idea what Rose wanted. She and her sisters had thought Rose would be overjoyed to learn of her true identity–that she would want to be a princess, beloved by all, with a family and a castle and a handsome prince. But even after the issue of Prince Philip's mistaken identity had been resolved, Rose had been deeply and profoundly unhappy, and Fauna hadn't had even the faintest idea of how to help.

And what was it the wicked fairies could offer her? An escape from the life that made her unhappy, Fauna supposed, but at what cost? To what end?

Rose was so young, so naive and trusting. She couldn't see that this situation would only end badly.

Then again, what could Fauna offer her that was any better? She'd seen the way Rose had been treated when Zalia returned her to the castle. She could see how Rose, who didn't understand the extent of the danger she was in, would take the situation. They'd treated her like a prisoner.

Of course she had run away the second she got the chance.

Fauna emerged from behind her hands to set eyes upon Prince Philip. She gasped and clutched her heart. She couldn't imagine how she had forgotten. There was just too much to take in.

She hopped off of the bed and approached him, staring at the unfamiliar angles and swirls of wicked fairy magic in an attempt to figure out how he'd been frozen. Fiddling nervously with her wand, she started trying every unbinding spell she could think of until finally–

"AAAAH!"

Philip's entire body contorted in a cry of agony and he sank to the floor clutching his wrist.

"Philip? Philip, what's the matter?"

Philip let out another guttural wail of anguish by way of response.

"Philip!"

After several minutes, Philip swallowed audibly and took a deep breath. "She broke my wrist," he said, his voice deep and heavy.

 _She broke my wrist..._  "Who? Kinsale?"

Philip looked at her, face drawn in pain, light brown eyes shining. "Aurora." He breathed her name like a tormented prayer.

"Aurora?" Fauna repeated stupidly.

Philip nodded. "Mistress Fauna, what's happened to her?"

Fauna clasped a hand over her mouth and stifled a sob. "I don't know, Philip," she whispered, shaking her head. "I don't know."

"Is..." Philip began, but then stopped. The pause brought Fauna back to her senses, and she set about bandaging and healing his wrist.

"Thank you," said Philip with a sigh of relief. "I meant to ask...if there was any hope for her."

Fauna patted his arm, keeping her eyes trained steadfastly downward. "That depends, dear. Certainly there's hope of saving her," she began, and she had to pause to wipe away another tear, "but will she ever be our little Rose again? Will she ever...?"

Philip stood on shaky legs and distanced himself from her, and she turned away to collect herself. "It's no wonder she's so confused about who she is," he said. There was an edge to his voice. "People calling her all different names all the time."

"I know!" Fauna sobbed. "I'm sorry!"

"But we must first focus in rescuing her from her captors. Mistress Fauna, assemble your sisters."

"Rescuing her? But how?"

Philip looked at her as though she'd grown an extra head. "By any means necessary, of course," he said firmly. "Assemble your sisters."

"Yes, Your Highness," Fauna breathed as she turned to exit the room.

She couldn't allow it. She didn't know how, but she had to stop them. Chaining Rose up and dragging her back here  _by any means necessary_  was no way to help her. It would only drive her further and further into the arms of her enemies.

Again Fauna found herself wishing she were more like Maleficent. She wished she could say one thing and mean another. If she were Maleficent, she could assemble her sisters and the King and Queen and cook up some complicated scheme for them to follow, and then she could go and do something that would foil it all, and they'd be none the wiser. That was what she needed to do. But she didn't know how.

She needed help. She needed someone cleverer, and better at lying. Her sisters were out of the question. Flora was all caught up in Felicity's mad scheme to rid the world of evil, and Merryweather couldn't keep a secret to save her life. Fauna wanted to believe that Philip would come to the aid of his wife, but she found herself doubting whether he would ever believe what Fauna had to tell him...

Just before she knocked upon the guest suite where her sisters were staying, Fauna had an idea. It was perhaps not the best idea that ever was, but Fauna was rapidly running out of options. She drew her wand, reduced her size, and hastened to Queen Leah's sitting room, entering through the keyhole.

The Queen was perched upon a lavish settee in a pale pink gown, holding a book she was not reading and staring morosely at the window. She did not notice when Fauna resumed her usual size, and Fauna cleared her throat lightly. "Your Majesty?"

Queen Leah started and turned sharply. "Mistress Fauna–!"

"Shh!" Fauna approached her, hands outstretched. "We don't have much time, and there's something I must tell you."

The Queen nodded, eyes wide. "Very well, what is it?"

Fauna took several deep breaths while she carefully considered what she must say.

"It's about Aur...it's..." Fauna squeezed her eyes closed. "It's about Briar Rose."

"Mistress Fauna, I understand that–"

"Please, please, Your Majesty–" said Fauna. Her heart was pounding. She was overstepping her bounds. She could be banished for interrupting the Queen when she was speaking. "I know that to you, she's Aurora. But to her, she's Rose. And I know it's our fault, and I'm so sorry for it, to you and to her... But...but..."

The Queen knelt and took Fauna's hands. "All right, Mistress Fauna. Just tell me what you have to say. I'll listen."

Fauna took several deep breaths. "Rose is gone." She didn't dare open her eyes to see the Queen's reaction. "Philip is going to tell you she was kidnapped. But she wasn't. She went of her own free will. He's going to make a plan to get her back, and we must agree with him, but it won't work. Maleficent is a very clever fairy, Your Majesty. It's been said that she can look into a person's eyes and see his soul. Rose wanted freedom, and Maleficent can offer that to her."

Leah was silent for a moment. Her expression changed from one of abject horror to one of melancholy resignation. "Is there any hope for her at all?"

Encouraged by Leah's sudden willingness to cooperate, Fauna nodded exuberantly. "Oh, yes, Your Majesty, yes, there is! Rose is safe as long as she's of use to Maleficent. I don't know what she wants–some kind of revenge. But until she's satisfied, she'll keep playing along. We have until that time to appeal to Rose, to draw her away from the danger she's courting."

"Appeal to her? How? If Ma...if Maleficent...has bewitched her somehow... If she can offer Aur..." the Queen turned away. "If she can offer Rose all of these things that...that we can't..."

"Maleficent can do...a lot of things," said Fauna slowly, wringing her hands. "A lot. And she is a perfect liar. Someone far more experienced than Rose would be taken in by her completely. But..." Fauna took a deep, shuddering breath. "But there is one thing I can think of that Maleficent cannot even pretend to understand."

"Something...something Rose wants? Something that will draw her back?"

"Something everyone wants," said Fauna. "Desperately," she added as an afterthought, and averted her eyes.

"What is that?" asked the Queen.

Fauna looked back at her. "Love."

* * *

The first eighty years.

Nonsense.

What did any member of the righteous fae do for the first eighty years of her life? She studied. She traveled. She learned.

She uncovered the things she desired, and she searched for a path to achieving them.

Her family had been weak, magically and morally. Sara strove to be better. Her path was clear, and it could be paved only through attrition. If a fairy with negligible natural skill wished to better herself, she must work tirelessly, push herself far beyond the realm of what she believed to be possible, and still farther beyond the realm of what others told her was possible.

She had seem much of these fragile things called humans, whose spirit Queen Titania saw so fit to admire, and she found her respect for it fading rapidly. To be alive was to be in constant battle. How could a creature who knew only a fraction of that misery understand the fae?

 _The first eighty years_.

Instead of this, the logical conclusion, Sara must be told time and time again, for eighty years or for six hundred, that she could never possibly understand them.

Sara had done her due diligence. She'd been near thirty when she'd left home, a solid twenty years before most of her kind, restless and eager to travel the span of the earth as quickly as possible, ideas humming in her mind like angry hornets, begging to be realized. She had seen all manner of humans, and all manner of their folly. She'd studied them tirelessly, with a tirelessness the most dedicated among them could never truly know. She'd aided them—the poor, the hungry, the injured—as was her calling, and she had listened to them when they spoke, waited for some show of this almighty wisdom she was meant to protect.

She'd found little. What humans called wisdom was mostly vague platitudes and observations they in their transience saw as far-reaching. She'd grown fond of a few of them, certainly, but their time was too short to create any lasting bonds. Just when Sara was ready to smile and laugh at the memory of an inside joke, they were going grey around the temples and weak around the knees.

Humans were quick-moving creatures, passionate in the way a dying star burned too brightly before it collapsed into itself. Sara had no great love for them as she was meant to, not any longer, but she would not allow them in their charming folly to be wiped from the face of the earth by the monsters who would use them as cannon fodder.

She would not sit idly by while the wicked fae bred an army of nothings and thrust them to the front of their tragic battlefields. She would not shoulder the blame when the chips fell where they might and the threat had been exterminated, but the people didn't like the cost.

The wicked fae understood that, at least—costs. Humans never seemed to. Always wanted magic, but never wanted to pay for it. Always wanted success, but seldom had the drive to chase it. Saw what they desired, saw the path to achieve it, and looked for shortcuts. So it was, Sara supposed, when one only had eighty years or so to live.

Sara summoned her messenger bird and handed him a correspondence for Felicity in the Hill Country. The wicked fae wanted war? They wanted to play politics with the Queen? They would get exactly what they courted.

* * *

It had been a rather long time since Maleficent had awoken to the sound of tortured wailing. She was a light sleeper, and the sound woke her quickly and completely, but it did not cause her any particular alarm. She climbed off the end of her bed and opened the door.

Briar Rose lay in a tangled heap of limbs twisted in strange directions, weeping senseless non-words, bloodied hands outstretched as though she had dragged herself here, and Maleficent was seized by a series of emotions she wouldn't be able to name if she tried.

She scooped Rose up into her arms and placed her as gently as possible upon her bed, then summoned every healing book Zenovia had given her. Maleficent was wholly incapable of casting healing spells, which was clearly evidenced by the hundred or more she tried to little avail.

Rose was not in her right mind–she couldn't form a complete sentence, and Maleficent couldn't imagine why she was still conscious. Her first instinct was to cast a sleeping charm upon her, but in her current state, that could very well end in disaster. Maleficent took a moment to step away from the situation and try to think clearly, but Rose's anguished cries for help did not allow her much time for dissociation.

Maleficent focused her efforts on Rose's hands. Another few dozen spells at least stopped the bleeding and took care of a few o the scratches. Gingerly, she touched the side of Rose's face, and thought of an old calming charm she'd learned once. "Rose," she said softly, but firmly. "Rose."

After a moment, Rose's cloudy eyes cleared. She still looked deeply anguished, but she at least seemed to recognize Maleficent. "Huh?"

Maleficent didn't know the spell very well. She'd never needed it. It took a great deal of concentration to keep it going, and she knew she must maintain contact with Rose's face, where her hand had landed when she'd thought of it. "What's the worst?" she asked. "What kind of spell do you need?"

"Hmm...my..." Rose's eyes fluttered closed and she took several deep, shuddering breaths. "My leg. My leg, I think...I think it's broken. Need...it's for fractures. Bones. Something about frames, skeletons, something..."

Maleficent processed the few clues she had been given and nodded curtly. "Just one moment," she said needlessly, for the second she took her hand away, Rose's face contorted in pain and she let out a blood-curdling scream. Maleficent clenched her hands into fists and quickly turned her attention to the pile of healing books. She cast a summoning spell and found several possible answers to the riddle Rose had given her, but of course they were of no use to her.

She lay the books on their appropriate pages out in a line, then wrapped an arm around Rose's back to prop her up, searching her mind for the calming charm once more. The screaming turned into quiet weeping, which slowly died down into laboured breathing.

"Look," said Maleficent, propping herself up at Rose's side and gesturing to the books. "Find the one you need."

"The one I...?"

"Your leg, remember?"

"My leg...my leg...I think it's..."

"Broken. Fractures, bones, frames, skeletons."

"Yes. Right. That one..."

Maleficent ran her hand lightly down Rose's arm, never daring to break contact with her skin, lest she dissolve into senseless agony once more. She took Rose's hand beneath her own. "Cast the spell," she said.

"I don't know...I don't know if I can..."

"I shall help you," said Maleficent. Words tangled on her tongue and caught in her throat, and eventually, the only ones that made it out into the open air were. "It's all right."

Rose's hand trailed lazily in a pattern that Maleficent tried to follow, and she muttered an incantation Maleficent couldn't understand. It had never occurred to her to hate herself for this weakness in her abilities, that she should be so ill-equipped with healing spells, but the hatred hit her suddenly and with full force, and she felt herself snarling with the impact. At this moment in time, those three good fairy imbeciles would probably be more use to Rose than Maleficent was, and she despised herself for it.

After a few tries, Rose's leg straightened out into its proper angle with a loud crack, and Rose's shuddering sigh as her head lolled back against Maleficent's shoulder served as the definitive indication that their combined efforts had been successful.

Yet, when Maleficent let go of ROse's hand and the calming charm was released, Rose began to cry afresh. Maleficent, surprised and confused, tried to back away from her as quickly as possible, but Rose grasped at her dress and buried her face in her shoulder, where she stayed and wept for nearly an hour, at which point she had exhausted herself and fallen into a deep sleep.

Maleficent carefully disentangled herself from the sleeping Rose and lay her back down into a comfortable position on her bed before retreating to her own. While Maleficent's bed was not nearly far enough away for her comfort, Maleficent could not imagine any place in this world where she would be far enough away from this situation to think as clearly as she would like.

She had spent the past year of her life shifting rapidly from believing she would die to believing she'd survive, back to believing she would die, and her ability to react to such a dramatic variance in possibilities had been deadened by overuse. When her mind wandered to the possibility of her own survival, she felt a strange nothingness that alarmed her.

Still more alarming was that instead, she cared about the survival of the other people in her party, and of course there was no way of ensuring that. Zenovia and Kinsale were prime targets just as Maleficent was, and though Maleficent could of course enchant or coerce or simply bind Rose into safety, the girl would most certainly not make it out of such a situation with her mental well-being intact, and that would largely defeat the purpose behind such actions.

Maleficent glanced down at Rose, now sleeping peacefully even despite the numerous bloody wounds that remained exposed to view. Half-consciously, she reached out and brushed the hair, stuck with sweat against Rose's forehead, away from her face, and allowed herself a moment to admire Rose's lovely features.

But as quickly as the moment had begun, it ended, and Maleficent shook her head to rid it of the nonsense it wove when she left it unattended. Keep the girl alive, keep her out of chains–in all the forms they came. This was her intention. Not to tragically lust after her when she was none the wiser.

With a sigh of exasperation, Maleficent lay down and attempted to run a hand through her hair. Her fingers were left examining the minimal, strangely fuzzy new growth which remained after she had gotten rid of what charred remains there were.

Maleficent had always been plagued by nightmares. The ones involving her mother hardly phased her anymore. Of late, though, every time she closed her eyes, she saw the endless wall of flames closing in on her from all sides, ever accompanied by the high, clear voice of Mistress Sara, coolly reminding her that she could put an end to her pain at any time she pleased.

 _You know what you must do_ , the voice told her sweetly, over and over again.  _You know what you must do. You know what you must do._

And she did. They all did. The words had crossed her lips once or twice, but she'd been in too much pain to form them properly, and they had been lost in another senseless scream.

Sometimes, in the safety of her nightmares, she said them. She said them triumphantly. She screamed them with a kind of elation she had never known. They didn't feel like giving in. They felt like the spoils of a neverending battle.

 _Kill me!_  she cried.  _Let me die! Show mercy on me and end my life!_

Perhaps her mind was beyond repair. Perhaps it always had been, for Maleficent had met very few people who ever seemed to understand even the barest essential workings of her thoughts. Her body had mostly healed, and her magic and strength had mostly returned, but there had been a moment–an instant, really–hardly noticeable, like a pinprick, a brief twinge of something that wasn't even pain...and in that moment, Maleficent had felt a change. A loss.

Not knowing had begun to drive her mad. Forever churning in the back of her mind was a list of her knowledge and abilities through which she cycled, like flipping the pages of a book, searching for something that belonged there, but had gone amiss.

Now, as she could feel what remained of her hair growing at the rate of anyone else, as she stretched and her limbs and face and neck and general person stayed resolutely the way that they had always been, without that tingling elasticity she had never truly noticed in them, Maleficent knew with a sudden and crushing certainty what she was missing: she could not shapeshift.

* * *

The meeting was long, and the debate was heated. Each of King Stefan's councilmen had a strong opinion which he felt compelled to share, most usually during the course of and slightly louder than the opinion of the man who had spoken before him.

They must contact the Western Kingdom, one maintained. They must join forces and soldier forth to wherever the princess was being held immediately.

Another firmly asserted that this was brash and foolhardy. If one wicked fairy could take out millions of mortals, why risk it? Contact the fairy and ask what she wants for the girl. Negotiate.

Negotiate with a wicked fairy? Rubbish! The fairy council must instead contact their allies and put together a force which might match that of Ma–

The Evil One!

She-devil!

Malef–

Don't speak its name!

It is a she!

She is an it!

And so forth for upwards of four hours, at which point the sun hung heavy in the sky. When the councilmen had exhausted themselves and begun to sip at their beverages, Flora took the opportunity to address the room. "If you please, gentlemen," she said, "the trouble is not merely Aurora. It is not merely our kingdom versus Maleficent. It is much, much larger than that. It is all of us against all of them. Wicked fairies."

There was an outburst of conflicting counterarguments which King Stefan quickly put to an end. "With all due respect, Mistress Flora," he said, comparatively calmly, for he had not slept soundly in...well, in many years, "I will not put my support behind a cause which views my daughter as...as collateral damage."

Flora began to speak, but Fauna put a hand on her arm. Flora made to wave her off, but Fauna stood her ground. As she was now the only official King's Counseloe, Flora was, most reluctantly, obliged to be silent.

Fauna swallowed hard and tried to calm her breathing. "Your Majesty," she said, so quietly that everyone in the room strained to hear her, "Aurora has already been a victim of this conflict...in the worst way." She shook her head. "We cannot...that is, we are far past shielding her from...from the horrors of war. We are trying to save her life."

Flora stood with a stamp of her foot. "We are trying to save her soul!" she added vehemently.

Stefan was silent for several minutes. He bowed his head briefly, took a long, deep breath, and then spoke. "Very well. I and my council will yield to your suggestion." He held a hand up to the room. "Without further debate. Tell us what we must do."

* * *

It had been centuries since Kinsale had awoken to the sound of anguished screaming, and even in the old days she had never grown accustomed to it. The sound woke her instantly, and she jumped out of her small cot and onto her feet. Seconds later, Zenovia entered the room, looking a bit worse for wear, herself.

"What on Earth is going on?" asked Kinsale, rubbing her eyes.

"No need for alarm, Kinsale," said Zenovia as she began changing into her night dress. "Only training."

"You mean to say that the person screaming is poor little Rose?" asked Kinsale, not without a mild rush of horror.

Zenovia raised her eyebrows. "Between you and Maleficent, I don't see how  _poor little Rose_  fights as well as she does."

"I don't see how leaving her screaming in pain is helpful to her training..."

"When was the last time you left a real battle without a scratch on you, Kinsale?"

Kinsale sighed. The silence was filled with mournful weeping that echoed through the small house like the cries of ghosts. It sent unpleasant chills up her spine. "I suppose you're right. Still, perhaps I ought to give her a hand."

Zenovia stopped Kinsale from walking any further with a gust of magic that knocked her right back onto her bed, coughing and gasping for air. "When was the last time someone was available to help you heal after a real battle?" she snapped.

"Well," said Kinsale between coughs, "I don't really make a habit out of battling."

"Then it escapes me why you feel qualified to question my methods." Zenovia stood with hands at the ready, as though they were currently engaging in such a battle.

Kinsale swung her legs back up onto her cot and tucked herself under the covers. "Oh, no questions, Your Excellency. Perish the thought," she muttered. "Though I can't imagine that you honestly believe Maleficent won't help her."

"I know she will," said Zenovia. "But Maleficent is a dreadful healer. She'll be no help at all."

Kinsale's brow furrowed. In the distance, she could still hear Rose's cries. "Suppose it's serious?"

"Obviously I'd never leave her in critical condition. She has a few scrapes and a broken leg, that's all."

"A few scrapes," Kinsale echoed, rolling her eyes. "Whatever you say, O Mistress of Hard Knocks."

Zenovia put out the candles and retired to her own normal-sized bed, and Kinsale twisted and turned in her cot as the sound of distant crying wove its way in and out of her dreams.


	20. The Misfire

The residence of Mistress Kinsale of the Valley was completely dark and deadly silent. Had she any neighbours, they would have said that this was very unlike her and that such blissful silence had endured for nearly two months.

Unfortunately for Mistress Kinsale, her only neighbours were the tracking spells Mistress Felicity and her sisters had placed there at Sara's personal request, and they told a different story. Though the silence endured, many wicked fairies of unidentifiable name and origin (for tracking spells much preferred tracking magic over tracking people) had been in and out via their infamous transportation spells.

Kinsale did not strike Felicity as the type to lead a large group, the likes of which she had drawn here, into battle. Felicity rather assumed that Kinsale was providing the connections and the meeting place, and that someone else, someone she had invited, would be providing the brute force.

Maleficent, formerly of the Three Kingdoms, seemed the most apropos candidate, and yet she had died at Sara's hands. That was top secret information, of course—Sara was still using Maleficent's name and the fear she engendered as an extremely effective means of rallying troupes—but in reality she had been far too dangerous to keep alive. Those poor little fairies from the Eastern Kingdom didn't even know how lucky they were to have escaped with their lives. Not that they wouldn't likely be lost on the battlefield, of course.

Zenovia of the Mountainlands would of course be the most strategic choice. She was well-known for her battle skills, particularly in the areas of proper form and strategy. Zenovia had been keeping her head down since she'd gotten herself Chained about a century ago and she might even have the advantage of surprise if she elected to lead the wicked fairy forces, such as they were.

But apparently Felicity had misjudged Kinsale. First those three little fairies ran into trouble with her, then Zalia, and now there was a generous bounty on Kinsale's head set by Sara, herself. Suddenly Kinsale had gone from socialite historian whose past, while checkered, was about as pure as they came for that of a wicked fairy to Public Enemy Number Two, which was really a bit misleading as Public Enemy Number One was actually dead.

Felicity was thrilled to have been granted such important information by Mistress Sara, but she had declined a position of leadership in the coming war. Unlike Kinsale, Felicity had no real tricks up her sleeve. Her portion of the ambush was led by Zalia's eldest sister, Milla, who had proven her worth to Sara when she discovered and captured Maleficent's mother, Adara, who had been in hiding for over a century.

"Can you all hear me?"

The twenty or so other fairies in the group nodded. It was completely dark, but Milla could see them all somehow. Some ancient spell Sara had unearthed for the occasion.

"We will be the first group to attack." That meant they were in charge of breaking Kinsale's wards. The wards were powerful, but Sara had found their weaknesses. They weren't connected to the house itself, only to Kinsale, and they were designed to protect her above all others. If she wasn't present for this little rendezvous, they might not even be an issue. Additionally, Kinsale had minimal understanding of good fairy magic. Use of a very complicated incantation, Sara believed, would flummox the whole system and tear it apart at its very seams.

"Zalia's group will follow directly behind us. At the ready, please."

Felicity and her fellow soldiers drew their wands across their bodies in the defensive position and prepared to spring into flight. Milla nodded at them, turned around, and did the same. Her next nod, nearly imperceptible in the shadows, was their cue. In perfect unity, they launched into the sky and came crashing down without even a moment's delay into the middle of Kinsale's ballroom.

It was just as empty and as silent as it appeared from the outside.

* * *

"I'm afraid I don't have very much to go on, but based on what I saw, their stronghold is somewhere in the Western Woodlands."

Leah looked at the area Fauna had circled on the map. "That's a very long journey without magic, Mistress Fauna."

Fauna nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, but unless something unusual happens, we still have a bit of time before war breaks out."

"Enough time to find some...carefully guarded secret fortress?"

Fauna sighed and clutched the handkerchief she always kept at the ready, but she did not dissolve into tears. "Our only advantage," she said as firmly as she could manage, "is that they'll be, ah...practicing. For battle. And unless it's all over the place, magic is very easy to pick out. It's, you know..." she waved her free hand erratically "loud and colourful."

Leah frowned. "To fairies."

"Yes," said Fauna, as though Leah ought to have realized that was what she meant.

"And you're certain..." Leah bit her tongue to stop herself.  _You're certain no one else will help us_ , she wanted to say, but fauna was as thoughtful and as over-cautious as they came. If Fauna had come to Leah in the manner that she did, she had seen no other alternative. The risks were understood. They could—very probably would—be caught in the beginnings of the crossfire in the course of their journey. Aurora could be dead or in unbearable pain or so far lost to herself that there was no hope for her even if she lived. Fauna had come to Leah for help because this was their last chance to save Aurora. Fauna knew all the ways in which it could fail, probably much better than Leah did.

"We'll leave when night has fallen, then," she said at last.

Fauna nodded and pursed her lips.

"Right. Well, if you'll excuse me, Mistress Fauna, I..." Leah glanced around the room uncomfortably. "I'd best see that everything is in order."

Stefan and his men would be on their way to the Mountainlands early the next morning. It was a long journey, and it was Fauna's hope that the trail would lead them more or less out of harm's way. Mistress Zenovia, the wicked fairy who now had a hold on Aurora, usually resided there, as did some of the most powerful good fairies in the world, but Zenovia was somewhere in the Woodlands and the good fairies were with Mistress Sara in the Sea Kingdom...it was all very exhausting to think about, for Leah had never heard of most of these fairies, and Fauna made it sound as though she didn't have nearly as much information as she ought to.

If Leah set it up right, and with a bit of help from Fauna, Stefan wouldn't even notice her missing before he left. He and his men would be led on a wild goose chase for a month or more, which would not only keep them from doing something foolish that would only drive Aurora further into the arms of her enemies, but would keep them from being used as pawns in the opening fire of the coming war.

The plan was rather good, Leah thought, and yet Fauna had delivered it to her while quivering like a leaf. Fauna had always been the quietest of her sisters, but when she did speak, she was always cautious, thoughtful, and very kind. She had been the one to whom Leah had handed her newborn child more than seventeen years ago. She believed that Fauna would take care of Aurora just as Fauna took care of her sisters and of the kingdom.

Leah tried not to dwell too much on what Aurora might say or do when they found her. She thought about the last time they had spoken, and it seemed in her mind to have gone so well. Aurora had been sad and in pain, to be sure, but she seemed to understand that the pain was necessary so that everything could go back to the way it was.

But that...that wasn't what Aurora wanted.

Leah tried to think through their conversation again, for the thousandth time, and to keep what Fauna had told her in mind. Aurora had been sad because...without magic, she felt weak. But humans were not meant to wield magic. Human sorceresses could only come to tragic ends. She would surely feel just as she once had when the magic was gone.

She was upset with Philip, just as she was upset with everyone for taking away the magic that had infected her soul, and she felt that she did not love him anymore. She was upset with Philip because she believed he did not listen to her. Leah had her reasons to mistrust Philip, certainly, for he had been raised by a boorish man. With no mother to temper him and only a kingdom of adoring subjects to praise him, if he turned out to be just as boorish, it would be wholly unsurprising.

Still, if there were one redeeming quality in Philip, it was his fierce devotion to Aurora. And Leah had to admit that the experience of speaking with Aurora, though she had done so comparatively seldom, had been heartbreaking. She could not rightly blame Philip for failing to listen to Aurora in the way that she wanted, for to do so would surely spell utter madness.

She was upset because she did not want to be called Aurora, but Briar Rose, the name the good fairies had given her when she was in hiding... Fauna had stressed the importance of this, that she would view being called by her birth name as the most direct and obvious blow to the things she was trying to secure for herself, and Leah had finally agreed to call her Briar Rose when the time came. Her name was a small thing to give up in exchange for a real conversation. Perhaps in time she would come to accept her birth name once more, Leah thought to console herself.

Finally, and perhaps most dreadfully of all, Aurora was upset because the people she loved, the people she felt were truly looking out for her best interests, were lost to her.

Aurora had come to love Maleficent, the wicked fairy who had cursed her to die without a second thought. How clever, how conniving must that fairy be, that she could convince Aurora to care for her in spite of all she had done? What kind of torture, what kind of spell or hypnosis could have done such a thing? And was there any way of getting through to her?

Fauna had said that there was. There was. There must be, she reminded herself.

The wicked fairies, Fauna said, treated Aurora kindly. All three of them. Three! If one wicked fairy could do such seemingly irreparable damage, what could three do? They spoke kindly of her even in her absence, but of course Fauna had been there as a prisoner. She had overheard that Kinsale wanted Zenovia to teach Aurora more magic. That meant that they were planning to train her to fight in the coming war.

In the minimal time they'd had, Fauna had read a bit about Mistress Zenovia, which she had shared at Leah's request. Zenovia was skilled in many, many areas of magic, not that any of that made any sense to Leah. She was a good healer, which was apparently unusual for a wicked fairy, and she was well-known for her precise dueling form and her frighteningly analytical mind.

But the things that seemed far more pertinent to Leah had seemed mere side notes of curiosity to Fauna. Several centuries ago, Zenovia had bested her own mother in combat. Were wicked fairies so heartless, even to their own families? Was this the kind of magic working upon Aurora which made her turn against her family?

About a hundred years ago, Zenovia had been sentenced to imprisonment by the Chains of Avasina, the same magical artifact Mistress Zalia had insisted would drain Aurora of her magic. She had been Chained, as the saying apparently went, because she had published a book which Mistress Sara's council deemed dangerous...some kind of knowledge she had uncovered which was not safe for use by the general public. Zenovia repented and managed to drastically lessen her sentence, but her two younger sisters were burnt at the stake for what was described as 'their rabid defense of the general public's right to such dangerous and volatile information.'

So this wicked fairy had turned against her mother and very probably sent her sisters to their deaths, and yet, if wicked fairies were so heartless toward their families, why had her sisters not turned against her in kind?

Leah had posed a few of these strange, twisted questions to Fauna, but poor Fauna had become very flustered and begun to cry, and so Leah had endeavoured to keep her interrogation to a minimum thereafter. Fauna tried to explain amidst hyperventilating that she did not know very much about wicked fairies or their ways. Their lives were so vastly different from those of good fairies, she said, that she could not even hazard a guess as to the answers to Leah's questions. "They can be very kind and very cruel in the same breath," Fauna had said miserably.

Leah wondered with a kind of desperate hopefulness whether perhaps Aurora would be able to answer some of her questions, if they managed to save her in time. Or was it truly some sort of hypnotic spell that kept her at the wicked fairies' side? Was it possible that she would awaken from it and not remember a thing? Was that too much to hope for?

Leah shook her head and tried to calm her thoughts as she entered the stables for the first time in decades. In her youth, she had loved horseback riding, but after her shameful brush with death, and thereafter her brush with eternal public shame, she had given it up completely. Not even Stefan knew that Leah could ride. Everyone in the castle probably got the impression that Leah was frightened of horses, since whenever she saw them, she felt a strange mixture of sadness and fear. The fear wasn't for the horses, though. In the privacy of her own mind, Leah watched the horses with a kind of desperate longing she couldn't fully explain. Her fear was that someone would discover the long-buried reason she had come to this kingdom.

Still, she kept up with the horses in Stefan's care. She tried to ask idle questions of Stefan and of the stablehand, ones that did not make obvious her knowledge of horses nor show excessive interest, and as such, she didn't have nearly enough information to make an educated choice of horse for her first ride in nearly twenty years.

As such, she chose her personal favourite, a fairly new, steel grey mare called Isra. She was by no means a war horse, meaning it was unlikely she'd be taken by one of Stefan's men, but she was mild-mannered and in good health. Beyond that, Leah would simply have to hope for the best.

Leah could only hope, for example, that the stablehand was too busy with these sudden preparations for a long journey to keep exact records of the horses and supplies that were taken. Sure enough, he and a good portion of the horses were out of the stables at the moment, but Isra remained.

"Hello," Leah murmured as she offered the horse a sugar cube. And with this quiet utterance, she felt a small thrill of anticipation. She had so missed the feeling of riding...the freedom that she hadn't allowed herself to experience since she had come here. She couldn't help but feel that she didn't deserve it...but this journey was to save her daughter, not to rediscover the freedom she had forfeited for a stable existence.

Mercifully, Stefan retired to bed early, as did everyone in the castle who would be embarking on their misleading mission at daybreak. Leah quickly and quietly changed her clothes and packed her things and, as soon as the servants had retired, crept out to the stables to retrieve Isra.

The first few steps that Isra took were terrifying. Leah felt stiff and awkward, and the knowledge that she was so out of practice made her even more tense than she would have been, anyway. But when she caught sight of Fauna, surrounded by a faint green glow with a knapsack over her shoulder and an expression of determination Leah had never seen on her, Leah relaxed just slightly.

For the thousandth time—or perhaps the hundred thousandth, Leah took a long, deep breath. This was their last chance. If Fauna thought that there was any other way, she would have tried it. Everything was in place, everything had been taken care of. They could still save Aurora.

* * *

Kinsale had not slept very well since her most recent adventure. She supposed her unrest was due to a combination of things: her terror at the prospect of being personally tracked by Mistress Sara; the sinking dread she had felt as she had hatched her grand scheme to free Maleficent, which had meant she had to leave Joy behind to die; the strange pain she had experienced when she thought for several minutes she might have been too late to save the princess, for whom she couldn't help but feel personally responsible; and of course the general sense of impending doom surrounding the coming war which intended to wipe out her entire species.

At any rate, she had used the extra time she was unable to spend sleeping to write down the events of recent months with the hope that, should she fail to survive the war—which, given the circumstances, seemed extremely likely—at least some of her information from within it would live on for the next historian.

Kinsale found it rather horrifying that she slept even less than Maleficent, who, when she was particularly focused on something, sometimes did not sleep at all for weeks at a time, but of course Maleficent was still recovering from what ought to have been her death.

On this particular morning, however, Maleficent seemed to be up to her old tricks. When Kinsale awoke a little before dawn, she came upon Maleficent sitting in one of Zenovia's not-especially-comfortable armchairs, hunched over some enormous and ancient-looking book.

"Good morning, Sunshine," she said, resting her hands atop the seat nearest Maleficent's.

"Clearly you came ill-prepared to effectively mock me at this hour," said Maleficent serenely, still evidently reading. "I was under the impression that you were a morning person."

It was never particularly easy to gauge Maleficent's mood, but if she was able to enact her peculiar brand of unfriendly friendliness while still reading, she was at the very least not on the brink of homicidal rage. Kinsale took this admittedly mild comfort as her cue to sit. "Searching for anything in particular?"

"No, no, just reading a book on ancient forms of wicked fairy torture for fun."

"You'll forgive me if I can't tell whether you're being serious."

The corner of Maleficent's lips turned up in a smirk, but she offered no further answer.

"Is Briar Rose all right?" Kinsale wondered. Every other night or so for the last two weeks, Kinsale had been awoken by the sounds of anguished wailing only to be told in no uncertain terms by her roommate Zenovia that she wasn't to interfere.

Her question gave Maleficent pause, but only for an instant. "She will be."

"Is this the sort of thing Zenovia put you through?" Kinsale wondered, shaking her head. "It seems dreadfully unnecessary if you ask me."

"Her reasoning is sound," said Maleficent. "Did she explain it to you?"

Kinsale rolled her eyes and leaned back. "Amidst mocking me for my inability to guess at her choice of binding spell, yes."

Maleficent glanced up from her book. "You want to help her. How touching."

Kinsale made her best impression of Zenovia's eternally stern countenance. "'How many times have you been wounded in battle only to have a trained healer at your side?' As though I could save anyone from anything!"

"You'd have been considerably more helpful than I am, to be certain," Maleficent replied. "Speaking of your loving friendship with Zenovia, do you care to explain to me her choice of room sharing?"

"Not that you're complaining." Kinsale quirked one eyebrow at Maleficent, which Maleficent counteracted with a fearsome glower. "I couldn't figure it out, either, until Zenovia started making snippy little remarks about my sordid reputation."

"Sordid reputation?" Maleficent echoed, raising both eyebrows.

"You know, seducing young, talented sorceresses," Kinsale replied with a rueful grin.

Maleficent averted her eyes. "Ah." After a moment's awkward silence, and just when Kinsale was about to broach the unspeakable subject of their past relationship, Maleficent spoke again. "Forgive me, I was distracted. Have you any news?"

Kinsale closed her mouth and frowned. Perhaps it was better never to bring it up again. "Always news," she said. "What do you want to know?" Before Maleficent could respond, Kinsale closed her eyes and held up her hand, "Don't answer that. Everything, I'm sure." Maleficent nodded and flipped another page.

Kinsale rolled her eyes. "There's a very generous bounty on my head. That's exciting."

"And unsurprising."

"Even higher than yours, actually."

Maleficent remained unimpressed. "Didn't you say Sara believes me to be dead?"

"Well." Images of Maleficent as she tumbled out of her tiny prison cell, limbs twisted in strange directions, skin charred, eyes dull and lifeless, flashed through Kinsale's mind. "According to my sources, she's still telling people you're on the loose. Probably to frighten them into joining her forces."

"What about you?"

Kinsale smiled. "Public Enemy Number Two. You may congratulate me in any way you see fit."

"Are you worried?"

This caught Kinsale's attention. Maleficent was a very good listener when she felt like being one, but she was far more a thinker than a feeler. She knew how to ask leading questions masterfully, but only when she wanted particular information or a particular effect. She would have been perfectly contented to hear whether and why Kinsale was worried, but Kinsale would never have expected the question to be one of the first that came to Maleficent's mind.

Kinsale's mind didn't work the way Maleficent's did. Nor did the minds of most, of course. She would be hard-pressed to figure out what sort of information Maleficent was aiming for with such a question, especially while she was otherwise engaged, let alone what use any information Kinsale could give her would be. Not to mention why she wouldn't simply ask Kinsale outright. Kinsale was far more apt to believe against all reason that Maleficent was, contrary to her usual modus operandi, asking Kinsale a genuine question.

As such, her brow furrowed, and she took a moment to answer. She was frightened, certainly. Terrified. But it was inevitable, wasn't it? To defy any fairy was to incur the full extent of her wrath. The full extent of Sara's wrath just happened to be particularly effective at this moment in history. To engage in war was to court death. Kinsale was happier that she had been able to circumvent the deaths of others in the process of bringing it upon herself.

"Not really," she said at last, though her voice held a fair bit more sadness than she would have liked. "Not anymore. Between the two of us, I think we've given the nonexistent wicked fairy troupes a bit of a morale boost. We might stand a chance, after all."

Maleficent nodded. "Are they convening?"

"Small groups like ours. I expect they were all very surprised to be getting so much mail from Zenovia."

"And then less so when they realized who was acting as her secretary."

Kinsale bit back her smile. "Make fun if you like. Zenovia is the obvious figurehead, but she hates mail and people, which are the only things for which I have any talent."

"Besides breaking into high-security prisons," said Maleficent, glancing up from her book.

Kinsale averted her eyes. "Really now, I'll blush."

Maleficent closed her book and set it aside. "I hope you kept one of the messages for me."

"You know," said Kinsale, rolling her eyes to cover how glad she was for the change of subject, "people would find you a lot less intimidating if they knew you liked to do puzzles like a trained monkey." Nonetheless, she handed one of the messages she'd set aside to Maleficent.

Maleficent eyed the paper skeptically. "If your code is at the level decipherable by a trained monkey, Sara will annihilate us before tomorrow morning."

"Don't worry, darling. There's also a decoy."

"Well, that's something, anyway," she muttered, but her black eyes were already rapidly scanning the letter. Kinsale took the opportunity to watch her at work, not without a small degree of excitement. She wasn't quite as good with coding messages as Maleficent was, but neither were most people as good at decoding them. To err on the side of safety, Kinsale had assumed that Sara's ability was somewhere near Maleficent's. In an attempt to gain an advantage, she had tailored most of her codes to the strengths of a wicked fairy.

Not five minutes passed before Maleficent started tracing a pattern in the air with her finger. Kinsale gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. "Already?" she whined. "Do you know how hard I worked on that?"

With her free hand, Maleficent waved her away. "It's fine. Might take Sara a while to realize there's a code. And it's a wicked fairy spell. I doubt she's studied the stuff extensively. Aha!"

While she had been talking, her mind had been working on the spell. The true message—a handful of coordinates and a signal—materialized in the air, in Kinsale's handwriting. Maleficent cast a sideways glance upon Kinsale, eyes twinkling, a single brow arched.

Kinsale shook her head and smiled fondly. "I hate you sometimes, I swear."

Maleficent's gloomy demeanour cracked, and she returned Kinsale's smile. Kinsale did little to contain her obvious delight at the shift in Maleficent's mood, and reached out to grab her hands. She started to speak, but caught herself and looked down.

"What?"

Kinsale shook her head. "Will you be terribly offended if I tell you how I've missed you?"

Maleficent eyed Kinsale's hands warily. A moment of awkward stillness passed between them, but eventually, Maleficent elected, however cautiously, to take Kinsale's outstretched hands. "No," she said finally.

Kinsale's heart was warmed by the simple word, and she squeezed Maleficent's hands. Perhaps a question about her well-being or wary tolerance of an affectionate touch didn't amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but from Maleficent, non-denial was as close to affirmation as it came.

"The apocalypse is coming," said Kinsale, in continuation of her news.

Maleficent chuckled lightly. "Won't Zenovia be pleased."

Kinsale had thought herself very clever when she'd begun referring to her brothers as the Four Horsemen. Everyone she knew apart from Maleficent had found this habit of hers extremely childish and suggested, with varying degrees of politeness, that she stop at once. Maleficent, who was fond of subtlety and not particularly fond of male fairies in general, had suggested she refer to them collectively as  _the apocalypse_.

"They won't be here for another week or so," Kinsale replied. "And I daresay we won't be here much longer after they arrive."

Maleficent nodded gravely, her dour mood instantly restored. "What of Sara's forces?"

"Word is that they intend to present a united front. Much larger groups, surely."

"The element of surprise would aid us greatly, then," said Maleficent. "Your signal will serve us well, but we ought to practice fighting in a group when your brothers arrive."

Kinsale gazed down at Maleficent's hands in her own, admiring the contrasting shades of green. "What of Rose?" she asked quietly.

"I'd like to convince her not to fight," said Maleficent.

Kinsale looked up. "You're losing your touch," she scolded. If Maleficent wanted to convince anyone of anything, she could do it.

"It isn't that..."

Of course it wasn't. "You want her to fight?"

Maleficent shook her head. "I feel...badly about manipulating her. It's very easy. Without any intervention, she'd have no trouble thinking me a saint."

Kinsale sought out Maleficent's eyes, troubled and stormy as usual. "Sometimes it's nice to have someone who only thinks the best of you, Maleficent," she said.

"It most certainly is not!" Maleficent snapped, withdrawing her hands. "At best it's extremely unsettling!"

Kinsale quirked an eyebrow. "And at worst?"

Maleficent glared at Kinsale, but Kinsale did not back down. Years of experience had taught her that this was the crucial moment. If she backed down at the sight of Maleficent's signature snarling glower, that was the end of it, the sign of her breaking point. If she realized instead that Maleficent drew upon her natural powers of intimidation to cover up for her weaknesses, then the battle usually swayed in Kinsale's favour. As such, Kinsale's expression hardened and she folded her arms, awaiting the answer.

Maleficent gave her a small huff of indignation and looked away. "At worst..." she began, and Kinsale saw Maleficent's anger melting into a strange sort of nothingness that made her stomach lurch. "At worst, I fear I shall miss it when it's gone."

Kinsale reached out and touched Maleficent's forearm with her fingertips. Maleficent flinched, but she didn't push Kinsale away. "Maleficent, you know—"

"Shh." Only after Maleficent cut her off could Kinsale hear quiet footsteps between short strides coming from the hallway.

* * *

Briar Rose had slept remarkably well. She hadn't been plagued by the usual nightmares, nor had she awoken every few hours seized by a kind of terror she feared she would never escape. For the first instant after she awoke, she felt a heavenly peace of mind not unlike that instant when she had awoken from her sleeping curse to see the face of the man she loved hovering over her.

Not unlike that instant of bliss, this one ended quickly and painfully. Rose let out a low groan as waves of pain washed over her entire body and she began to recall the events of the previous day. As of maybe a fortnight ago, whenever her battles with Zenovia went particularly well, Zenovia showed her no mercy. She would bark at Rose to keep going long after Rose thought she would never get up again, and only when Rose had gone half-mad from the pain would Zenovia murmur her customary "That's enough for today" before fading into the shadows to force Rose to save herself.

The first time this had happened, she could never remember much of what had happened after Zenovia disappeared. She had eventually regained brief flashes of books and half-remembered spells, and of Maleficent's face full of a concern she had never seen.

The second time Rose awoke to such minimal memories, she began to fully realize the wonder of what had occurred. Contrary to her snippy assertions regarding Rose's negligence, Maleficent had, evidently without hesitation, come to Rose's aid when she needed it. That was rather marvelously unexpected of her.

The frequency of such occurrences—that Rose should perform so well in battle that Zenovia quadrupled her force—increased rather quickly. As the days wore on, Rose was overcome by the horrifying realization that this must be the way Maleficent's training had gone...except of course that she'd had no one around to help her when she was left in such a state.

Rose never brought the matter up during waking hours. As she once more immersed herself in her training, she found that she barely had the energy to think about anything else. It was a welcome relief, really, but as these things always seemed to go, she knew all the new information she'd been contending with recently would hit her full force one way or another.

Her body was beginning to adjust to the abuse. When the initial wave of pain had more or less passed and she'd regained what little she would ever remember of the previous evening, Rose found that she was able to heave herself onto her hands and knees so as to make it over the edge of the bed.

 _Funny_ , she thought.  _People can take so much more than they believe they can and still carry on_. Perhaps Zenovia already knew that. Probably from her own experience. Rose shivered at the idea and did her best to push it out of the forefront of her mind, but a million tangentially related ideas swirled around with it, and she only barely managed to subdue the better part of them by the time she made it into the sitting room.

"Good morning, dear," said Kinsale.

"Good morning," said Rose, but her voice was hoarse and frail.

"How are you faring?" asked Maleficent.

Rose bit her lip and turned her attention to her feet. "I've been better," she said. "And worse."

"Come, darling, have a seat," said Kinsale, patting the spot next to her. Rose acquiesced as quickly as possible, but her muscles protested every movement, and she all but fell into the chair. "Maleficent informs me that you intend to fight when the war begins."

Rose nodded. She rather hoped Kinsale did not intend to prey upon her present weakness to talk her out of it. How could she not fight? These were her friends, the only friends she had ever known, and the only people who had ever bothered to tell her the truth about anything. But if she tried to put these thoughts into words at the moment, she feared they would come out as little more than a high-pitched whine of desolation.

But Kinsale nodded neutrally. "How is your training coming along?"

Rose's first instinct was to say something dreadfully sarcastic, but the instinct alarmed her so much that she tried for something a bit less aggressive. "Not so well," she said at last. "It always seems like a matter of how long I can last before Zenovia thinks I've had enough of being torn to pieces."

Kinsale took Rose's hand, which caused Rose to wince a little, but she appreciated the gesture too much to pull away. "If it's of any consolation to you, most good fairies aren't very good duelers. Especially not one-to-one. If you gave Zalia a run for her money months ago, I'd wager you could best all but the most elite fighters today."

Rose frowned. "If that were so, why would you have any cause to worry?"

"Well, the danger with good fairies is that there are a lot of them, and they do very well fighting in enormous groups," said Kinsale. "Not to mention, we've each attracted the attentions of Sara, herself."

"Ah. Right."

Rose hadn't really thought very much about Mistress Sara. There was a lot of information to consider when thinking about her, and as exhausted as she was, she didn't even know where to begin. She had this simplistic notion in her head that Sara meant certain death, and that was because what little she had understood of the conversations between Maleficent and Kinsale about her made it seem that way. She was very powerful, smart, resourceful...she was like...well, she was sort of like Maleficent, but with a nearly boundless supply of other powerful, smart, resourceful people who would do her bidding.

"Why didn't either of you ever frighten legions of people into worshiping you?" Rose wondered with a yawn as she rested her head on the back of her chosen seat.

Kinsale chuckled. Maleficent turned a page in the book she was reading. "I don't like public speaking," she muttered.

"Nonsense!"

"I speak the truth."

"You don't like  _people_. You're a very good public speaker."

"Also true. But I don't enjoy it."

Kinsale rolled her eyes. "I do hope you asked because you're hoping to make that your next move, Rose."

Rose snapped to attention. "What?"

"You are heir to a throne, after all," Kinsale continued, and Rose couldn't tell whether she was being serious. She could, however, tell that Maleficent had stopped reading. "And people seem to take to you. Even uncommonly difficult ones." Maleficent responded with a derisive snort.

"Oh, I'm not..." Rose suddenly found it very difficult to breathe "...I'm not heir to any throne...it's not...Philip is the...is the heir." Images of her own hands holding his, her own eyes looking into his with nothing but loathing as she snapped his wrist like it was a twig flashed before Rose's eyes.

"Now, now," Kinsale waved her hands dismissively, "if you're going to form your legion of doom, you're going to have to stop worrying about silly little technicalities."

Rose relaxed immensely when she realized that this was Kinsale's extremely twisted idea of a joke. "Of course," she said with a small sigh. "How silly of me. So I take control of the Eastern Kingdom."

"Mhm," Kinsale nodded, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "and the North, too, since they'll have pushed the merger through by then. And after that you'll want to take over the West, which shouldn't be too difficult. Probably take up residence in Maleficent's former home, just for the aesthetic, really, and that will be a very nice start to your ultimate world domination."

Rose allowed a small smile to cross her lips. She appreciated Kinsale's attempt to lighten her mood, really, she did, but underneath the joke lay a rather ominous set of questions. Of course there was the question of what she would do when her grand, mad adventure had ended, something she had skillfully avoided thinking about ever since it began nearly a year and a half ago. Unfortunately, there was little need for worrying about her future plans, as it had been made extremely clear to her that she had little chance of surviving the coming war.

As though in response to her dismal turn of thought, Kinsale spoke again. "Oh, where is my head? I meant to tell you, Zenovia is attending to a bit of paperwork this morning, or possibly she's sick of us and doesn't want to see anyone. Either way, you're to practice with me today."

"With you?" Rose echoed stupidly. She didn't know why it was so surprising—she'd been trained by Kinsale before, but they had never dueled.

"I'm not nearly as good as Maleficent or Zenovia, but neither is anyone, really," said Kinsale with a shrug.

"I'm offended," Maleficent interjected, but her voice was neutral and she had resumed her reading. "I don't recall you ever extending such a generous offer to me, Mistress Kinsale."

Kinsale responded with a pointed look. "Yes, well, I don't fancy getting all bloodied up in the name of practice."

Maleficent looked up and raised her eyebrows. "And you don't expect that a battle with Her Excellency, Mistress Briar Rose will so much as scuff your shoes? I do hope you're not going to take that, Rose," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"I, ah..."

Kinsale grinned, an expression Rose had always found a bit unsettling on her. She looped one arm around Rose's shoulders and led her toward the door. "No need to worry, pet. As I said, I'm no Zenovia."

When they'd made it far enough out into the field, Kinsale spoke once more. "Let's begin it properly, shall we, instead of putting you immediately on the defensive. Three paces away, turn, fire. I ought to warn you that most wicked fairies cheat and turn too early. I imagine Zenovia will pull that trick on you at some point. Oh, and we'll end it properly, as well. Do you know the binding spell?"

Rose nodded silently.

"Of course you would," Kinsale rolled her eyes. "Maleficent and her binding spells. All right then. Ready?"

Rose let out a reluctant sigh as she tried to clear her mind of the dozens of unanswered questions that plagued her. Such tumultuous thoughts, she had learned, had no place in a duel. As she turned away from Kinsale and swung her staff across her chest, she focused her attentions on how to proceed. Her best offensive spells were fairly simple fire attacks, but if she wasn't in the right mindset, she couldn't cast them at all. In fact, in this particular mindset, she wasn't certain she could cast any type of spell with any degree of success.

But this was no unknown foe. This was Kinsale, who was the closest thing Rose had ever had to a friend. She had offered her services as a dueling partner out of kindness, not out of malice, and she didn't need to say that she was nothing like Maleficent or Zenovia for Rose to believe it. Still, Rose keenly remembered Maleficent's words of warning when they had first met: Kinsale's power was not to be underestimated merely because she was friendlier than the average wicked fairy.

"I shall count us off, then. One...two...three!"

After nearly a month, which sometimes seemed like an eternity, of fighting against Zenovia, against whom Rose could only ever hope to defend herself from mortal injury, fighting against Kinsale felt a little bit more like a real exchange. Rose imagined that Kinsale was deliberately holding back—it was easy to forget that she was a few hundred years older than Maleficent, and must have seen her fair share of duels—but, in a testament to her keen observational skills, she was holding back exactly the right amount. Kinsale had turned this into a fair fight: challenging, but not impossible to win.

It was this battle with Kinsale, far more than any of the others she had witnessed or fought, that opened Rose's eyes to the art of dueling. Before, she had always been overwhelmed by countless spells she could scarcely keep straight, or by the intimidating countenances of her opponents, or otherwise by the mildly horrific sight of two women fighting.

In an even match, Rose was able to appreciate Kinsale's style and, later, to compare it to those of Maleficent and Zenovia. Zenovia was direct and precise. She didn't move any more than she absolutely had to, and nor did her magic. Her spells were smooth, fast, and efficiently dealt harsh blows to their victims.

Maleficent, by contrast, moved a lot. Her motions were swift and jerky, and impossible to predict. Perhaps her greatest asset was that her reaction to injury was like a knee-jerk reflex. Whenever she was hit, she hit back twice as hard before her body had even registered the damage. Her magic also had a bit more flair to it. One of many things Rose was slowly rediscovering about Maleficent was that she possessed a confusing combination of extremely high and extremely low self-confidence. In the realm of battle, Maleficent was supremely confident in her abilities, and this showed in the precise, intricate designs her magic left in its wake.

Kinsale, in contrast to both Zenovia and Maleficent, was very calm in battle. Her facial expression was decidedly neutral, unlike Zenovia's intense sternness or Maleficent's fearsome snarl, and her motions were fluid and graceful. Rose could see how this would work to her advantage in a real battle—that Kinsale seemed at ease suggested that she was holding back, that she was not giving her all in this battle because she did not need to.

The spells Kinsale fired at Rose were also far from vicious. Rose found it much easier to deflect and counter them when she realized that Kinsale was not trying to give her a nasty wound or break her limbs. She fired mostly various kinds of binding spells, and her elemental attacks were air and water based, and yielded easily to Rose's equally mild fire attacks.

Once or twice, Rose succeeded in knocking Kinsale off her feet. Unfortunately for her, she felt so badly about doing so that Kinsale had ample time to recover and knock Rose off her feet in response. After the second time, when Rose had ascertained that Kinsale did not actually seem terribly hurt, she realized something: Kinsale's reflexes were nowhere near those of someone like Maleficent. If Rose could knock her down once, she must swiftly follow that with another attack, and the battle would be hers.

Feeling strangely giddy with the weight of this epiphany, Rose picked up the speed of the battle. Kinsale responded in kind, though, and Rose became quickly preoccupied with defending herself. Perhaps she had been wrong—perhaps Kinsale had excellent reflexes and was merely ignoring them for the sake of giving Rose a slightly more even match. As the battle wore on, it bore more and more resemblance to a battle against Zenovia. Kinsale's spells packed more punch, and deflecting them caused Rose to physically stagger backward.

She tried to think like Maleficent. How did one fire a counterattack whilst one was still recovering from a blow? If she could use that time she spent gasping for breath to rasp the words of another spell, she would create a window for herself, and perhaps gain an advantage over her opponent. The anxiety she caused herself by waiting for a blow to strike her did her no favours, however, and so Rose made a rather mad decision: she would choose which blow would hit her.

Rose took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind, that she might hear Kinsale's spells better as they approached. Shield, shield, shield, shield, stop.

The air-based spell whirled Rose in circles for several seconds, but Rose was prepared. She took hold of the spiraling wind and set it ablaze, then sent it racing back in Kinsale's direction.

Kinsale was caught off-guard, and the fiery winds did what they were intended to do. Kinsale fell to her knees, coughing and waving her staff to put out the fire, which gave Rose the perfect vantage point to knock the staff out of her hand and cast the final binding charm.

Feeling almost dizzy, Rose shifted her weight and swung her staff over her shoulder, aiming it at Kinsale in a symbolic gesture of victory. Kinsale looked up at her and smiled. It was not precisely a mirthful smile, but it was warm and genuine, if perhaps tinged with melancholy.

"My, but you've improved," she said.

The quiet, gentle quality of her victim's voice somehow managed to reach Rose in the midst of her inner frenzy. She swallowed and attempted to control her breathing, then slowly lowered her staff and removed the binding spell. Shortly thereafter, she began quivering violently and sunk to her knees.

"I won," she gasped. But she did not feel victorious. She felt like a rabid animal who had assessed the weak points of its prey and taken advantage of them. She felt like the corrupted overlord she despised, the one who had ceased seeing her friend as her friend, blinded by her burning desire to succeed, to conquer.

She felt that her tenuous grasp on herself—on Briar Rose, the person she had risked everything to protect from utter destruction—had slipped once more. How could she regain her grasp? And even if she managed it, how long would it be before she stumbled again, and found herself once more on this winding path into a world she might never fully comprehend?

After a few moments, Kinsale left her alone in the middle of the field, and Rose was rather glad of it. She sat in the grass and pulled her knees up against her body in an effort to shield herself from the memories of what she had just done, and from the promise of what she must continue to do, what she was agreeing to do by fighting for her friends.

She was so afraid of dying, and so afraid of losing herself, and yet, she now wondered whether the version of herself she knew best was already irrevocably lost to her.


	21. The Apocalypse

They arrived in the dead of night, with a cry so raucous that it awoke all four members of the makeshift household (some of whom were far more easily startled than others) in varying degrees of panic.

Briar Rose screamed. Maleficent shot up to full attention. Zenovia opened her eyes wide, hands subconsciously poised to defend herself. Kinsale started, but when she realized what the mysterious voices were yelling, she buried her face in her pillow and groaned.

"KINSALE! KINSALE!"

Briar Rose was so overcome by panic that she had completely lost her grip on herself. She clutched Maleficent's arm without a second thought to what might befall her. "What's happening? Who's after Kinsale? Is the war beginning? What do we do?"

Maleficent lightly shook Rose's hands off of her arm with a small, tingly gust of magic. "No, no," she murmured, slowly crawling to the edge of the bed. "That is the cry of the apocalypse. No cause for alarm."

This did nothing to ease Rose's anxieties. " _What?_ " she wailed, clutching her blanket to her chest.

"Kinsale's brothers," Maleficent clarified, leaning on the end of the bed to support herself.

"Oh," she uttered as part of an enormous sigh of relief. It occurred to Rose that Maleficent still sometimes seemed weak, as though she hadn't even nearly finished healing. This struck her as strange, considering how quickly she seemed to heal from her near-fatal injuries when they had first met. She rested her head against the wall as her body calmed itself. "Are your legs very much better?" she dared to wonder.

Maleficent stood up straight by way of response and headed to the door. "They will be," she replied crisply. "Come. We must greet our new guests."

Rose decided not to push the topic any further at the moment, and instead scrambled somewhat groggily to the edge of her own bed and followed Maleficent into the main room of the house.

"Mallie!"

Rose had previously believed that she had seen Maleficent looking perfectly capable of murder, but she realized now that she had been mistaken. The look she gave the four strange, green-skinned men standing around Kinsale was enough to frighten Rose nearly out of her skin, and she took a few steps away from Maleficent so as to avoid becoming collateral damage.

"Now, now," said Kinsale, "let's not antagonize Public Enemy Number One, shall we?"

"Come on, sis! Mallie always loved a good fight!"

"If you wish to keep your tongue," said Maleficent, voice low and venomous, "I suggest you bite it."

The man held up his hands in surrender, but his face remained jovial. "Whatever you say, Mallie!"

Rose glanced around the room at the first four male wicked fairies she had ever seen. They each had surpassingly handsome features and dark, curly hair. The one who had approached Maleficent favoured Kinsale far more than the others did. He was the tallest among them, and he was about Rose's height.

"I believe introductions are in order!" said Kinsale, a slight edge to her voice. "Mistress Briar Rose, these are my brothers. Nicodemus," she gestured to the tallest man who had approached Maleficent, "Velan," to a man with large eyes and wild, curly hair, "Inopius," to one of the two men significantly smaller in build than Nicodemus and Velan, who, when he smiled, was missing one of his front teeth, "and Merick," to the smallest among them with the grimmest expression. "Brothers, her Excellency Mistress Briar Rose of the East."

While Rose was attempting to wrap her mind around such a bizarre title being bestowed upon herself, each man in turn turned his gaze upon her as though he hadn't noticed her before, and each reacted with surprise, followed by extreme and mildly unnerving interest.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," said Nicodemus, and each of Kinsale's brothers bowed to her in turn. Nicodemus approached her and she backed away instinctively. "I've never had the good fortune to contend with a human sorceress," he said as Rose's hands hit the wall behind her. "Would you do me the honour of being my first victory?"

Rose's mind flew into a fresh panic and she struggled to think of some way to react that would get him away from her. She knew she could best him—he was about her height, and she'd been told a thousand times over that male wicked fairies weren't usually good duelers—and yet he still seemed to loom over her, to block all means of escape with his presence before her.

Memories of the last man who had prevented her escape from his presence flooded her consciousness and she bit the inside of her mouth to hold back her tears. This man was not Philip. She did not know him. She did not trust him. She had never fancied herself in love with or indebted to him. Her magic was stronger than his. She could get the best of him if she didn't panic.

_They will try to get close to you, not only because they believe they can overpower you, but because they believe they can frighten you._

Maleficent. Maleficent had spoken these words to her just before she, herself, had tried to frighten Rose away. Rose had felt few emotions other than fear during that time, and yet something about those terrifying days had shown her the promise of a life that she could choose for herself. She had seen in Maleficent, far more than a deeply troubled and extremely dangerous enigma, a woman who did with her days as she pleased, a woman who would gladly annihilate anyone who stood in the way of her freedom, and a woman who had the means to do so.

_They believe they can overpower you. They believe they can frighten you._

That was the reason she had agreed to learn magic. That was the reason she had skillfully ignored the signs of her descent into the same cold-heartedness which allowed Maleficent to cause harm to those who threatened her. Briar Rose, who had never known very much freedom at all, longed for the kind of freedom Maleficent possessed, whatever the cost.

_They believe they can overpower you. They believe they can frighten you._

_They are incorrect._

Rose took a deep, calming breath and steadied herself. She removed her hands from their place against the wall and flicked her wrists, throwing Nicodemus back several feet. "If you think you can frighten me," she said quietly, to hide the wavering uncertainty in her voice, "you're wrong."

"I wouldn't pick a fight with her, either, if I were you," said Kinsale. Rose realized with a start that the conversation had not lulled at all. She had not taken as long as she usually did to come up with a way out of a bad situation. "She's been training with Zenovia for months," Kinsale added.

Rose noted with no small amount of resentment that Kinsale's voice was tinged with amusement. She wasn't discouraging a fight at all. She would relish the entertainment.

Nicodemus had long since recovered from his surprise at Rose's response, and had returned his efforts to gazing ominously at her. "No kidding?" he said with a smile more suited for showing teeth than for showing mirth. "Just like my darling, darling Mallie."

"Call me Mallie  _one more time_."

But Nicodemus ignored her. His eyes never left Rose. "Come on, Rosie," he said, holding out his arms in a show of mock-deference. "Show me what you've got."

Though Rose's stomach twisted uncomfortably, she ignored it in favour of keeping her power, her freedom. She wanted him and his brothers to leave her alone. If she demonstrated her superior skill, he wouldn't challenge her like this again. He was the oldest, and probably the strongest among them, so if he left her alone, the others would follow suit. This wasn't like hurting Philip, or her aunts, or Kinsale. This was why she had spent the past year of her life on the verge of madness: so she could make people leave her alone when she wanted them to.

She didn't remember when gathering her energies into concentrated magic had become second nature to her. With her right hand, Rose scooped up what seemed to be empty air and blew lightly upon it so that it caught fire. She glanced up at Nicodemus and quirked one eyebrow.

Nicodemus raised both of his eyebrows in response. "Go on, Rosie. I'll let you have the first shot."

To Rose's surprise, a disbelieving laugh escaped her lungs. "No," she said, shaking her head and tossing her fireball away into nothingness. "No. You're going to whine about how you'd have won on equal footing, and I won't listen to it." The room was suddenly dead silent but for Kinsale, who very unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. "We count off."

Zenovia, whom Rose had not noticed sitting in an armchair looking very much like she'd prefer to be sleeping, added firmly, "Outside, if you please."

Rose raised her chin, turned on her bare-footed heel, and marched outside, turning her back upon Nicodemus in a show of exactly how little she thought of him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kinsale rush excitedly over to Maleficent, grabbing her by the arm to follow them out. Maleficent didn't shake her off.

"Count off when you're ready," said Rose, folding her arms.

She had just begun to wonder whether perhaps she was feeling overconfident for no good reason when Nicodemus began to count. He sounded even more amused than Kinsale, even more condescending than everyone Rose had ever encountered. The mere sound of his voice mocked her, and that mockery pushed Rose over the edge of reason into blood-boiling rage.

"One...two...three!"

Rose's first fireball hit him right in the gut, her magic infused with the full force of her fury at being so flippantly underestimated after months of maddeningly hard work. She could have cast the binding spell and been done with the battle just like that, but with a kind of cruel self-satisfaction which would later horrify her, Rose waited for Nicodemus to put out her fire, dust himself off, scramble to his feet, and take the defensive position before she hit him with another attack that packed just as much punch as the first.

This time, he tried to fire an attack of his own at her from the ground, but Rose flicked it away like an annoying insect, waited for Nicodemus to ready himself once more, then stomped her foot on the ground, sending a wave of vibrations through the ground that knocked Nicodemus onto his back once more.

"Have you had enough?" Rose barely heard the words she had spoken. They felt like they came from somewhere else, certainly not from her own lips.

Apparently her taunting spurred Nicodemus to action, for he leapt to his feet and took the defensive position in less than a second, and his spell followed so quickly that Rose didn't have time to block it. She thought fast, though, and before her knees had hit the ground, she had fired a counterattack which threw Nicodemus into the air.

He landed flat on his back once more, and by that time, Rose had already recovered from her minor stumble. Just as he began to get to his feet, Rose lazily cast the final binding charm. Since she didn't have her staff, she merely folded her arms and looked down at him expectantly.

" _Fine_ , Rosie, for Hell's sake!" he said, shaking his head. "I concede to your superior skill, now let me go!"

But Rose did not come back to her senses for another minute or so. Aided by the vaguest suggestion of daylight, the harsh lightening of the sky which came just after those darkest hours on the night, she looked down upon her victim with an immensely satisfying feeling of vindication. Her hard work had finally paid off. She finally had what she wanted. She could defend herself and her freedom. She could do as she pleased, and she could defend her right to do so. No man would ever touch her again. No man would ever frighten her or overpower her or talk to her in the woods when she wasn't supposed to speak to strangers.

She came back to herself gradually, and the feeling manifested itself in a churning sensation in her stomach. With a mixture of unease and disgust, both for Nicodemus and for herself, Rose removed the binding spell, then turned and headed back inside. She suddenly realized that her feet and nose were very cold and she had missed a scratch from her training with Zenovia the previous day which was now burning fiendishly.

"Very impressive," said Zenovia quietly. "Be forewarned: Nicodemus will not take such embarrassment lightly. He won't underestimate you next time."

Rose sat to tend to the wound she had just noticed. "Does the fighting ever end?" she wondered with a sigh. "Is it always just...fighting to see how long you can last?"

Zenovia considered this for a moment with her eyes closed. "Perhaps," she said at last. "Then again, such is life. Day in and day out, we are beaten down. We spend our lives struggling to hold our ground even when we know it is impossible." She opened her eyes and looked over at Rose. "Even when we know that one day, we shall be beaten down for the last time. A battle is merely a more immediate concentration of that which we must learn to do constantly."

Rose averted her eyes, made uncomfortable by the strange intensity that surrounded Zenovia. "Thank you for training me," she said. "I know I'm not an ideal student."

Zenovia raised her eyebrows. "What more ideal student is there than one who desires nothing more than to learn?"

"But as compared to—"

"You mustn't compare yourself to others," said Zenovia. "Particularly in the realm of magic, and particularly to Maleficent. Even the magic of blood sisters varies widely, as evidenced by the fact that Maleficent and I both lost our sisters many, many years ago."

Rose's stomach lurched painfully. "But Maleficent's sisters were murdered."

"And mine went to their graves on a whim?" Zenovia wondered with a tilt of her head. "You'll find that wicked fairies seldom die of old age, Briar Rose."

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't," said Zenovia.

"What..." Rose wrung her hands and bit her lip. "If I may ask...what happened to your sisters?"

"Executed for their crimes against humanity." The way she said the words was strange, like she was quoting someone else.

"How many did you have?" Rose asked, daring to look up from her hands.

"Two."

"Were they both..were they...at the same time?"

"Yes."

"What were their crimes?"

Zenovia held Rose's gaze for an uncomfortable moment, then abruptly returned her attention to the opposing wall. "Being my sisters."

"What?" Rose shook her head. "What does that mean?"

"Did Maleficent tell you why we parted ways?" Zenovia asked her. "The second time?"

Rose struggled to remember, but she'd learned so much about so many people that it was difficult to keep it all straight. Zenovia had written a book...something controversial. "Something about a book that you wrote?" she guessed.

Zenovia nodded. "Demystifying Good Fairy Magic. Perhaps you'd like to take a look at it while you're here. There aren't very many copies left."

Good fairy magic. Maleficent had told Rose that good fairy magic was meant to be difficult for wicked fairies to understand. "Maleficent said that good fairies...something like that they marched wicked fairies out of their houses..."

"And demanded that they burn the book immediately, or else be burnt at the stake, themselves," said Zenovia with a nod. Her demeanour had grown somehow even more stern than usual. "Those who were smart did as they were told. I told Maleficent to make herself scarce and to deny all connection to me, and lo, she survived. The world lost many foolish idealists in those years."

Rose considered this with a frown. "You mean to say that people defied the good fairies? They refused to burn your book? Isn't that..." she refocused her attention on wringing her hands. "I mean, I think that's very brave."

"It was idiotic," Zenovia replied evenly. "The information wasn't lost with the books that were burned. Fairies had already read it. Many would have remembered and passed it along."

"Well, yes," said Rose, looking up, "but it's the principle of the thing. That good fairies wanted their magic to be kept a secret from everyone."

"Your Highness, there is little use in fighting for the principle of the thing if you're burnt at the stake before you've made any progress."

"Oh," said Rose quietly. Her voice had suddenly caught in her throat, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke again. "I'm sorry... What happened to you? What happened to your sisters?"

"My sisters..." Zenovia began, then stopped abruptly. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and harsh. "My sisters were foolish."

Rose's stomach twisted again. "They stood up for you."

"They shouldn't have," Zenovia snapped. "I talked my way out of a death sentence. They talked their way into it."

Rose made to reach out, but she stopped herself. It was possible that Zenovia had led a life not unlike Maleficent's. A comforting touch to Rose might be the opposite to Zenovia. Her hand lingered awkwardly in the air, and she said, "I'm so sorry."

Zenovia looked up at her, surprised, then her eyes darted down to Rose's outstretched hand. Without hesitation, she took Rose's hand and patted it. "It's all right," she said. "It was a long time ago."

But Rose had already been told the same thing several times, by both Maleficent and Kinsale. This time, she decided to respond. "That doesn't change anything," she said.

Zenovia tilted her head and considered Rose for a moment, then reached out and lightly touched her cheek. "I was going to tell you that you'll learn when you're older," she said with a strange, sad smile that did not quite make it to her eyes, "but you're right. It doesn't change anything. Now," she stood and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. "Get some rest. There are still a few hours before dawn."

* * *

Fauna and Leah traveled in relative silence for over a week. They did not stop to rest until one or the other (or, more frequently, the horse) nearly dropped to her knees in exhaustion, and sometimes even then they tried to soldier on.

Their attempts at conversation invariably ended in tense silence. Fauna continually tried to remind Leah that the person she thought of as her daughter was not only very different from Leah's idea of her, but might well be completely different from the girl Fauna had known for sixteen years.

Leah tried to understand, for there was a quiet part of her that knew all too well how very much a person could change in a short amount of time. Still, another part of her insisted that Aurora was her daughter, and that she loved her daughter. Surely their estrangement should not be this difficult to overcome.

Another part of her, far quieter and yet far more insidious than any other, coolly reminded her that she had handed her daughter over to this woman seventeen years ago. Had it truly been the only choice she had? It had certainly felt that way, and yet this particular voice did not heed Leah's arguments.  _There is always a choice_ , the voice reminded her.

The longer the days dragged on, the louder this voice became. And as it grew louder, it brought with it a dull, churning, twisting, aching sensation that made its permanent home in the pit of Leah's stomach.

 _There is always a choice_.

Had that been the correct one?

On this particular night, Leah lay beneath a canopy of leaves fashioned by Fauna and wondered whether she might die of sheer exhaustion. Every muscle in her body ached. Her heart ached, her stomach ached, her head ached, and she had no idea where she would find the strength to journey on when morning came.

Leah remembered the last time she had felt this way. She remembered a midwife firmly pulling her newborn baby away from her. She wept senselessly, muttered horribly cruel things she would do if her child was not returned to her at once, but the words came out as little more than deranged wailing, and Leah's arms were too heavy to lift.

 _I am going to die_ , she wailed.  _I am going to die and you won't even let me hold my baby!_

Leah awoke nearly three full days later, and she was so stunned to be alive that she immediately began weeping once more from sheer gratitude to all that was kind and merciful in the universe, and even to all that was not.  _Thank you_ , she murmured to God,  _thank you_ , to her father for finding this new life for her,  _thank you_  to Stefan for being such a kind-hearted man, even before she had loved him so very, very much.

 _Thank you_ , she whispered, though the words were lost in a wracking sob, to the wicked fairy Maleficent, who had given her broken body the strength to bear a child and to live, when it was so clear that said body could have done neither of those things on its own.

She learned later, when her servants, her husband, and his council had ascertained that Leah was alive and on the mend, that the announcement of the baby to the kingdom had been delayed in hopes that Leah might pull through. Stefan had sat by her side and Leah had suggested that they name their child Aurora, for the dawn, and for the sunlight she would bring into their lives. Not very long at all thereafter, preparations had begun for Aurora's christening.

 _As a demonstration of your gratitude_ , Maleficent had said, and her voice sent unpleasant chills through Leah's spine,  _you might cease treating me as a scourge upon your kingdom._

_Excellency?_

_Perhaps consider inviting me to your child's christening. As a show of good faith._

Time and time again, Leah had reassured herself that there was nothing she could have done. Stefan wouldn't listen to her, and if she pressed too hard, he would uncover a plethora of shameful secrets Leah had been hoping to escape forever.

Now she plainly saw that this had been not only cowardice, but selfishness. What was Leah's shame to her daughter's very sanity? Suppose Stefan had been furious. Suppose he had cast Leah away. At least then Maleficent would have known that Leah had tried. What if that would have been enough to satisfy her?

A chill ran down Leah's spine at the memory of Maleficent. In Leah's two encounters with her, she had not been anything like what Leah had expected. She hadn't been a raving lunatic, or a hideous beast. She had, on the contrary, exuded a quiet elegance and eerie calmness of demeanour which only served to augment an undercurrent of imminent danger. Even more than that, there was a distinctive sanity about her, which only served to make her cold personality and her underlying cruelty more troubling. Maleficent was not a madwoman. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Was this what Aurora had seen in her? Had she mistaken Maleficent's sanity—that which convinced most people that she must truly embody Evil—for an indication of some small inner goodness?

Leah was overcome by a wave of nausea when she remembered the way Aurora had spoken of her captors. She adored them. Leah had been too afraid to tell Aurora that they were to receive a death sentence. She had feared—far more than the prospect of more misdirected anger—that Aurora would fall apart without the delusional hope of seeing them again.

The more she thought about the last time they had spoken, the more nauseated she became. She thought of the bitter edge to her daughter's beautiful voice, the cryptic questions she asked about the nature of love, and the way she laughed almost maniacally at the strangest things. Leah found it difficult to accept that Aurora might truly have been driven mad, and yet what other conclusion could she draw?

Leah heaved a long, shuddery sigh and shifted her position. Fauna was asleep a short distance away, but Leah could see the little fairy's eyebrows knitted in concern even as she slumbered.

There was still time. There must be. However it pained her to admit it, Fauna knew Aurora better than Leah did. Much better. Leah must somehow manage to swallow her pride and her anguish and do as Fauna said.

Hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, Leah allowed a very disturbing and deeply upsetting stream of thoughts to come to the surface. She didn't mean to, not really. She was too tired to fight it off, as she had every day up until now.

The good fairies had awoken Stefan and Leah in the middle of the night. Stefan had been very groggy, but Leah had still been very much awake. She had failed to keep her promise to a woman everyone with any sense in his head feared above all else, and unless she thought of something in the meantime, her failure would cost her her daughter's life.

"We have a plan," Mistress Flora had explained.

"You're not going to like it," Mistress Merryweather amended.

"But we really...we really think it's the only way," said Mistress Fauna gravely.

Their brilliant master plan had at first sounded utterly ludicrous to Leah. The good fairies had already said that their magic combined was no match for Maleficent—how could they expect to hide anything from her?

"Maleficent knows many things," Fauna explained.

"She sure thinks she does..." Merryweather muttered.

"But what she thinks she knows is her weakness!" said Flora. "Maleficent would never believe that we, who have lived with magic all our lives, would live without it. She would never believe that anyone would want to raise someone else's child."

Leah turned away in horror. She would lose the chance to raise her child.

"Please, Your Majesty," cried Flora. "There is no other way to keep Aurora safe!"

It had been Stefan who agreed. Leah had stood facing the wall, clutching her child to her chest and weeping, until she felt Stefan's hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face what must be done.

"It's the only way?" she echoed quietly.  _It's the only way_.

Here, in the sanctity of her memory, a memory Leah could never change, no matter how many times she tried, Leah said the word she hadn't said then.

_No._

_There must be another way._

She wrapped her arms around herself, clutched her imaginary baby to her chest, and whispered the word over and over again until the sun Rose.

_No._

_No._

_No._

* * *

The next day, Rose trained with Zenovia once more, which meant that she ended her day in unspeakable pain, crawling on elbows and knees back to her room in a sort of delirium. If she had been under the impression that her dueling skills had improved, Zenovia would have put her rightly back in her place. Perhaps Rose could hold her own against a male fairy, and someone who underestimated her, but certainly not against a real dueler.

"Well, that is the beauty of being you," Maleficent said in response to Rose's senseless blubbering to that effect. "Many, many people will underestimate you."

Rose groaned by way of response and threw another gust of magic at her throbbing ankle, but she was too tired to sit up again.

"Come now," said Maleficent. "Nicodemus is older than Kinsale and you bested him like it was nothing. Most of the people you'll come across in this world are no better at dueling than he is."

"That would be of much more comfort to me if you weren't so concerned about being wiped off the face of the earth," Rose replied morosely.

"As Kinsale mentioned, the difficulty is in the numbers. I expect today was your last day of training only with Zenovia. You can best one fairy who's out of practice, one who's never been in practice, but how about two who've been recently retrained? What of four? A dozen?"

Rose groaned again and buried her face in her pillow. Maleficent chuckled quietly, but Rose's thoughts remained decidedly melancholy. So what if she could learn to best two, or four, or even a dozen? The difficulty was in the numbers. If what she had chanced to overhear was any indication, there were hundreds of thousands of good fairies who would fight in Mistress Sara's name.

"Maleficent?" she asked after several minutes of silence.

"Yes?"

"What was it like? Nearly dying?"

Maleficent was silent for several minutes. Not so long ago, Rose would have wondered whether she would answer at all.

"I don't remember," she said at last. "Every time I realized I was still alive, I was surprised."

Rose hadn't asked very much about what had become of Maleficent during her imprisonment. For one thing, the topic in general made her stomach lurch. She keenly remembered her misery when she had learned of Maleficent's fate, and she had been so unbelievably happy to see Maleficent alive that she hadn't been very keen on hearing the details, for fear that they would shatter the illusion. But now, now that she had more or less ascertained that this was not a very long and elaborate dream, she found herself wondering a great many things about it.

Another obstacle to consider was that Maleficent didn't seem to want to talk about it very much, but of course, she didn't seem to want to talk about many things, and yet she usually indulged Rose. The one question Rose had asked—how had Sara managed to capture her?—had been met with as vague an answer as Rose thought possible, and even the answer Maleficent had just provided had not offered very much in the way of real information.

Rose turned on her side and tossed another generic healing spell at her ankle, but she could not will her body to move any more. Every muscle she had was impossibly sore. "I still have this idea in my mind that Sara means...means certain death. When Fauna told me you..." she squeezed her eyes closed. One memory of the time she had spent in the Chains of Avasina brought back all the others, and even on their own, they were too much to bear. "But you escaped."

"Kinsale risked her life to save both of us that day," said Maleficent.

"What happened?"

"I don't remember much of it. Kinsale convinced the night guard that Sara would blame her for somehow helping me to survive her torture." Rose opened her eyes to see Maleficent gazing blankly at the wall. "I'm given to understand a hefty dose of hypnosis was involved in the convincing."

"So that isn't just a trick of yours?" Rose wondered, moments of hazy dreamlike memories flashing through her mind.

Maleficent let out a small half-chuckle. "That is a trick invented by Mistress Cordelia."

"Of the Sea Kingdom?"

"The very same. If you'll recall, she wanted the world to believe that she was born of the sea." After a moment's silence, Maleficent added, "But don't trouble yourself unnecessarily, Briar Rose. Very few wicked fairies have ever grasped the concept. Kinsale is very good at it—the best I've ever met. Unless Sara for some reason asked the guard too many questions, she'll be inclined to believe the story Kinsale gave her."

"What was that?"

"That I died, and that my body was already so rotted that the guard had to dispose of it to make the prison livable."

Rose's stomach lurched, and she clasped a hand to her mouth and groaned. Maleficent turned and looked down at her quizzically.

"That's dreadful," Rose muttered into her hand.

Something in Maleficent's expression darkened. "There are far more dreadful tales in this world than that one. At any rate, that and the fact that I am virtually unrecognizable without my signature headdress afford me a small advantage over Sara's inner circle."

Rose struggled to fight down the urge to retch, and could think of nothing more to say.

"There's no need to be upset about it any longer. Is something else the matter?"

Rose struggled to breathe, and her words came out in short bursts. "I saw you," she said. "I saw you and you did look...you should have...but you survived, you're alive, and so I didn't ask too many...too many questions, because I was afraid..." Rose covered her mouth again, and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. "But how? How did you survive? I saw you! And I see you now, and you've barely healed at all! And I just...I worry about you. I can't help it!"

Maleficent reached out slowly and smoothed Rose's hair, which was matted and stuck to her forehead with sweat, out of her face. Rose shivered, but the gesture was so surprising that it distracted her somewhat from the dread still churning in her stomach.

"There's an old saying," she said quietly. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

"Is it true?" Rose wondered.

"Like most simplistic adages, it's a bit more complicated in practice."

Maleficent ran her fingers through Rose's hair once more, and Rose felt the faint tingling sensation that accompanied her magic. She realized vaguely that her muscles didn't hurt nearly as much anymore, and she covered her mouth once more, this time to stifle a yawn.

"Sometimes, for example, a dragon can choose to serve a sorceress. Suppose that sorceress were threatened with a fire that could cause death, and the dragon stood in the way. That could very well lead to the dragon's death."

Rose didn't fully understand what Maleficent was saying, nor was she alert enough to chide Maleficent for soothing her with magic.

"Suppose there were a dragon inside of a sorceress," Maleficent continued, even more quietly than before. "Suppose the sorceress was in unspeakable pain, such that she cried out for death. But suppose the dragon in her took the fall, instead, that she might live to see just one more day. And suppose it just so happened that that day was the day her saviour arrived."

The dragon in her took the fall... The words spun around and around in Rose's mind, and still they failed to make sense to her. Maleficent and dragons...Maleficent was a dragon. Maleficent could turn into a dragon. But the dragon in her took the fall.

"You're not a dragon any longer," Rose murmured at last.

"That is the hypothesis, yes."

Though there were innumerable questions Rose wanted to ask, the feeling of Maleficent's fingers in her hair had completely numbed her mind to anything that seemed more pressing than a full night of sleep.

* * *

"Mistress Hilda to see you."

Sara raised her head from her hands. "Send her in."

Mistress Hilda was best known for her overwhelming contributions to dumbing down good fairy magic to the lowest possible denominator. While she had employed many worthy fairies in the physical inscription of the Big Book of Spells series, she, herself, was almost entirely responsible for its construction.

Sara, who had absolutely no patience for simplification, found Hilda's patience for such an endeavour highly admirable. Shortly after the series had been completed, Sara had offered Hilda a place in her employ. Hilda had, at the time, graciously denied the offer in favour of furthering her own magical education as a member of the Mountainland Fairies, a colony of elite duelers who had just recently lost a member to retirement.

With a war upon them—albeit ever so slightly delayed—Sara now had the benefit of these women as her allies. Mistress Hilda's strengths were far less in the realm of battle and far more in the realm of information, tactics, and a knack for seeing the big picture. She had also tried her hand as a biographer a handful of times over the years, and as such, possessed a great deal more information on the lives of various influential fairies than did the average person.

"Good afternoon, Mistress Sara."

"What news, Mistress Hilda?"

Hilda produced and unrolled a copy of the letter Mistress Kinsale had sent to rally her troops, and a map not unlike the one Sara had spent the past three days scrutinizing. "Coordinates," she said.

"Coordinates?" Sara echoed derisively. She'd had far too little sleep to be dealing with anyone's idea of cryptic cleverness.

Hilda dropped the map on Sara's desk, conjured and adorned her reading glasses, then began reading from the note. "'As I'm certain you've noticed, Many things about the way our society is run have changed over the years. Indeed, it might seem that many of the obstacles which kept us as a species from coexisting peacefully are no longer Viable Factors. It is with these changes in mind that I—'"

Sara cut her off. "The point, if you please?"

"You know about wicked fairy magic, yes?" Hilda asked, unphased. "It's all lines and angles, equations, that sort of thing?"

Sara made a noncommittal noise. She had never understood very much about wicked fairy magic, nor did she care to try. Non-wicked fairies who dabbled too deeply in the stuff tended to end up stark-raving mad.

"Well, look here." Hilda held the note in front of Sara's face and pointed to an A, an M, a V, an F, and an ink splotch.

Sara shoved the note away from her face and stood, to emphasize the fact that she towered over Hilda. "Mistress Hilda, I am not an adolescent, and I do not anticipate ever requiring the skill set to decode a message written by Mistress Kinsale again." The Fairy Queen could try to tell her whatever she liked. Sara would not tolerate an attempt at tutelage from someone of half her age and ability.

"Right," said Hilda quietly. "My apologies, Excellency." She looked down at the note and began tracing some kind of nonsensical pattern or string of symbols in the air with her fingers. Sara returned to her seat and rested her head on her hand with a small sigh of exhaustion. Once she had apparently finished, Hilda turned her attention to the nonsense she had scribbled and began rearranging it. Sara allowed herself a shudder at the idea that Hilda had intended to subject her to a slower and simpler version of what seemed to be an interminable process.

"Aha!" Hilda cried. She stepped back and presented her work to Sara.

But the jumble of symbols still looked exactly the same—perhaps even more jumbled than before. Sara raised her eyebrows and Hilda's smile fell. She glanced back to her work, frowned at it for several seconds, then took out her wand and fired a spell.

The symbols exploded into nothingness, and in their place materialized a handful of equally nonsensical numbers. Sara was less than a second away from having Hilda arrested for wasting her valuable time at such a crucial moment when she remembered what Hilda had said when she first entered.

"Coordinates."

* * *

The next morning, Rose was awoken by a painful blow to her lower back. She shot up into a sitting position, muscles screaming in protest, just in time to see Kinsale's second-youngest brother hit the wall and fall into a heap upon the floor.

"If you ever awaken me in such a manner again," said Maleficent, who was still lying down with her eyes closed, "I will eviscerate you."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," muttered Inopius as he scrambled out of the room.

"What a mercy it is that I did not grow up with such insufferable siblings," said Maleficent.

Rose leaned her back against the wall, too startled to even think of going back to sleep. "A mercy for them, maybe."

As it turned out, fighting more than one person at a time was not only vastly different and ten times more difficult than fighting one, but it set Rose's nerves completely on edge. Though individually, Kinsale's brothers never attacked even a fraction as quickly as Zenovia, and the spells were not even nearly as fierce, they had had upwards of four hundred years' experience fighting with one another. The result was that they played off of one another, each anticipated the other's move, and they sometimes combined their magic (which was individually about as strong as Rose's) to create a force Rose couldn't possibly have anticipated.

The first day, she lost every battle she fought. Nicodemus and Velan, Inopius and Merick, or any other combination thereof; it mattered not. The second day, late in the afternoon, Rose won a battle against Velan and Merick because of a lucky shot, but she paid dearly for it. She spent the rest of the evening nursing a broken ankle and wrist, not to mention a slew of sickening memories that accompanied that particular fracture.

The time alone with her thoughts was not kind to her. Everyone else was busy practicing late into the night, and here Rose sat, far more incapacitated by her thoughts than by her body. She had learned to heal a fracture rather well. She still couldn't think of any way to appease the troublesome notion that she was slowly becoming someone she despised.

The third day felt like an enormous step backward. Downtrodden by her continued failure and her decidedly morose mindset, Rose lost many battles within seconds. After one such occasion, as she looked up at the smug faces of Kinsale's brothers and waited for them to release her from the customary binding spell, Rose caught sight of Maleficent.

She had no idea what to make of Maleficent's facial expression, but it was decidedly negative. She imagined Maleficent must be terribly disappointed in her. What a waste of time, Maleficent's time and the time of her powerful friends, teaching magic to a weak human girl when she clearly had no use for it. She'd serve no use at all when the war began. She'd be nothing but a body to dispose of.

Inopius released the binding spell, probably because Rose's expression had gone from  _deeply uncomfortable_  to the far less entertaining  _terribly depressed_. She sank from her knees to the floor and stayed there for several minutes.

"Get up."

"What's the use?" she muttered into the cold stone floor.

"You're going to allow those snide little bastards to get the best of you? At least admit defeat to a worthy adversary."

Rose pushed herself up onto her elbows and pushed her hair out of her face. She glared at the bottom of Maleficent's dress. "I could beat them all if I tried," she said through gritted teeth.

Maleficent's reply was quick and cold. "In case it has escaped your notice,  _princess_ , you do not have the luxury of time on your hands."

How could she explain? How could she tell Maleficent, whose entire life had been one long fight for survival, that she must try to fight for something else?

Rose pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked up. Maleficent glowered down at her, arms folded across her body. "I'm frightened, Maleficent," she said, as steadily as she could manage.

Something in Maleficent's expression softened almost imperceptibly, but her voice remained cold. "It's about time."

Rose averted her eyes. "A part of me knows I could be better. At fighting. It's like a...like a fire...inside of me. But it..." She shook her head. "It's as though, when I'm fighting, really fighting...I'm a different person." She looked up at Maleficent with wide, searching eyes, hoping—perhaps against all reason—that she might have the answer to a question Rose didn't know how to ask. "I fear that if I...if I give into that feeling, that fire...I might truly lose myself in it."

Maleficent's expression remained neutral, but she dropped her defensive stance. After a moment's silence, she knelt and offered Rose her hand.

"If I had to guess," she said, in her usual clipped manner, "I'd say that it isn't a different person, but rather a part of yourself with which you're unfamiliar. A darker part, most probably. Perhaps even the darkest. But a part of you, nevertheless."

Rose took her hand hesitantly and stood on shaking legs. She didn't let go right away.

"It seems to me that this leaves you with two options," Maleficent continued. "You could spend the rest of your life denying it, wrestling with it in a vain attempt to subdue it. Or," she tilted her head and quirked one eyebrow, an expression which always made Rose feel like she was being studied, "you could accept it, embrace it, and, in the fast-approaching future, reap its benefits."

Rose frowned as she considered this. It certainly didn't feel connected to her, not at all. And yet, she could still only scarcely stand to identify the sickening anger which had overtaken her what seemed like forever ago when her life had begun its neverending spiral into the mess in which she now found herself.

Anyway, suppose she did accept it...embrace it, even? What would become of her then? She didn't feel as though she had any control over it. Whenever she felt that dreadful, wrenching anger she'd never been allowed to feel, it gave her a kind of strength she had never known. Instead of swallowing it and beating it into some sort of vague discontent or mild-mannered sadness, she fought back. She protected the power and the freedom she'd worked so hard to win for herself.

But if she surrendered to it? Never came back to herself, or what she thought of as herself, anyway... What would become of her then?

Rose gasped as a sudden realization hit her, and she shot Maleficent a skeptical look. "That's an awfully biased assessment," she said.

Maleficent raised her eyebrows. "What on earth were you expecting?"

A small half-chuckle caught Rose by surprise. She smiled sadly and shook her head. She found, as usual, that there were countless things she wanted to say, and yet she couldn't find the words for any of them.

"I'd better get back to practicing," she said at last.

Rose reluctantly withdrew her hand from Maleficent's, but Maleficent held on. Rose looked up in a silent question. Maleficent's brow was ever so slightly furrowed, and there was a small flicker of concern in her eyes. For more than a minute, she looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she nodded curtly and let go of Rose's hand.

Rose's fighting didn't precisely improve after that, but she didn't collapse to the floor in listless despair again. Her mind was too preoccupied by thoughts of the tiny glimmer of goodness in the hearts of the evil, and the tiny glimmer of cruelty which, logically, must exist in the hearts of the good.

Mercifully, the sun set on this exhausting day, and it gave way to a moonless night. One after another, the small party grew weary of practicing by candlelight, and they retired to enjoy what they might of a brief and uneasy slumber.

* * *

"Mistress Fauna."

Startled from her restless sleep, Fauna jumped to full attention, wand drawn in an ineffectual threat to the owner of the strange voice.

"You've chosen an unfortunate location to make camp," said Mistress Zalia. Fauna found that the sight of her made her sick to her stomach. Fauna wasn't entirely certain whether the nausea was for Zalia or for herself. "Sara's troops will be flying through in an hour or so. You'd best wake your traveling companion and get out of harm's way."

"Right," Fauna swallowed. She hoped Zalia would leave. She didn't have high hopes that Queen Leah would go unrecognized. And yet, even if Zalia made a show of leaving, it wasn't likely that she would allow anyone to travel unidentified. "Well. Thank you. I, ah...wish you luck."

"You'll forgive me if I inquire after the nature of your business so far from the Eastern Kingdom." It was not a question.

Fauna's first instinct was to blurt out a horribly-crafted lie, but she restrained herself. She tried to think of what Flora would say, but that might not go over very well, either. Flora, not unlike Merryweather, tended to come off as stubborn and haughty, not the kind of thing that would allow Fauna to escape. Upon further contemplation, though, a wild sort of abandon seized her. What would Maleficent say? "You'll, ah...forgive me," she began, as firmly as she could manage, "if I'm not at liberty to disclose."

Zalia raised her eyebrows. "You're choosing a peculiar time to play human politics."

 _You're choosing a peculiar time to play fairy politics_ , Fauna wanted to reply, but she quickly swallowed this surprising and disturbing urge. She didn't want to take the Maleficent metaphor any farther than necessary. "I've chosen to stay out of the war," she responded, instead. "That means living by human rules."

"Arbitrary, fleeting."

"Well..." Fauna frowned. "Couldn't the same be said for fairy rules?"

"On the contrary," said Zalia. "Fairy rules are very simple. Respect your superiors, side with the winners."

"Mistress Zalia...there aren't going to be any winners," said Fauna, wringing her hands. "Some people will just...lose less than others."

Zalia's eyes flashed dangerously. "So you abandoned your sisters? Because you think you can exempt yourself from loss?"

Fauna averted her eyes. "My sisters have chosen their paths, and I've chosen mine. One of us has to serve as King's Counsel. I wouldn't be any use in a war, anyway."

"I'd advise against giving that speech to another good fairy," said Zalia. "It's an awful lot of individualistic talk."

"What?" Fauna's eyes shot back up to meet Zalia's. "You just said yourself you only want—"

"To side with the winners, yes. I don't personally buy into much of that Greater Good nonsense, but my personal philosophy doesn't matter very much to Sara as long as I'm willing to do her dirty work. So I'm warning you as a favour," she crossed her arms. "I suggest you wake your companion and gallop off to your delusion of safety."

Zalia's feet were firmly planted in the doorway. She would not leave until Fauna woke the Queen, and she would never accept Fauna's lack of information if she recognized Leah.

With trembling hands, Fauna reached down and shook Leah's shoulder. She never took her eyes off of Zalia. Leah was slow to wake, and murmured what sounded like "No, no, no" as she turned her head to look at Fauna. "What? What more do you want?" she asked, both miserable and exhausted.

"We have to leave, dear," said Fauna, patting her shoulder. She didn't know where this sudden outburst of misery had come from. Perhaps the queen had had a nightmare?

"We have to...?" Leah's expression became somehow even more desolate, and she mercifully turned away from the door to gather her things.

"Thank you kindly for your advice, Mistress Zalia," said Fauna with as much authority as she could muster.

Zalia inclined her head towards Leah, clearly attempting to examine her in the near-darkness, but after a long silence, she nodded slowly. "You're welcome," she said, then turned and walked, still with painstaking slowness, out of sight.

After a moment had passed and Leah had gathered her things, Fauna leaned in and whispered, "Hurry. Keep your face hidden." She dissolved their makeshift tent with a wave of her hand and summoned her own satchel while Leah mounted her horse.

"Who was that?" Leah wondered quietly. "What did she want?"

"Mistress Zalia. She-"

"Mistress Zalia?!"

"Shh!" Fauna wrung her hands nervously and glanced around for any sign of eavesdroppers, but of course the night was eerily still. "She is a favourite of...let's say one of the major players...in the coming war. The first shots may be fired before dawn."

"Dawn?" Leah echoed miserably. "But how far are we? We aren't going to make it! And if the war begins, that means Aurora will be..."

"Oh...oh, don't cry, Your Majesty," said Fauna, but she couldn't exactly make an argument. "We haven't lost yet, dear. It's very unlikely that Sara's women have found the fortress where Rose is already. We still have time."

"Do we?" Leah's voice was hoarse and tremulous. "Or were we too late before we began?"

Fauna tried to respond, but came up with only empty words that wouldn't mean very much of anything. Leah hadn't stopped her horse. They were still traveling in the general direction of the Western Woodlands. Leah wouldn't really give up on Rose. Perhaps not even when she knew it was hopeless.

"We've still got to try," said Fauna at last. They continued their journey, as seemed to be their fate, in tense silence.

* * *

Rose didn't know how she could possibly be unable to sleep. She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't been in pain, and pounding headaches hadn't kept her awake any other night in the past month or two...or three...or however long it had been.

"Maleficent?" she whispered. She half-hoped Maleficent was sound asleep and wouldn't answer. Maleficent got so little sleep, anyway, and she was such a light sleeper, Rose would feel dreadful for waking her.

But, true to form, Maleficent sat upright immediately. "What is it?"

"Oh..." Slowly and painstakingly, Rose pushed herself up to a sitting position. "I'm sorry to disturb you," she said uncomfortably. "I couldn't sleep. I was just...I don't know, wondering if you were awake."

Maleficent's shoulders relaxed slightly. "It's no trouble," she said. Her voice was tired, almost scratchy.

Rose wanted to curl up into a ball, but her legs hurt too much to move. "I feel so miserable," she whispered, the pitch of her voice a bit higher than she'd intended.

In the darkness, Maleficent's eyes had an eerie kind of glow about them. When she turned to look at Rose, Rose could clearly see them, forever shining with a thousand thoughts she knew she would never fully understand. "No one would think less of you, Rose."

Maleficent was referring to the solution she had offered.  _I could hide you away if you wished it. I could place you under a proper sleeping spell until the war is over._

The same impulse that had caused Rose to confess her misery wanted to speak up again.  _Would I feel any pain?_  she wanted to ask. The physical pain was bearable, but the mental anguish she experienced every moment of every day? She would go completely mad soon.

But Rose swallowed this impulse. She hadn't come this far just to go back to where she was most comfortable, where everyone wanted her to be, safe and mindlessly sleeping the years away.

"I would," she replied at last.

Maleficent turned away. "I suppose there's nothing I could say to change your mind."

"There are a lot of things you could say to change my mind," said Rose with a little chuckle.

"Then why not allow me to?" It was too dark to see, but in her mind, Rose imagined Maleficent giving Rose her signature studious expression: head tilted, eyebrow raised.

She smiled ruefully. "I do see it sometimes."

"What?"

"How you could easily convince someone to see things your way."

"It's not working very well at the moment."

"Only because you warned me," said Rose. "Repeatedly."

"I'm going soft in my old age," Maleficent replied coldly.

Rose's smile widened. Emboldened by the darkness and what was as close to a charitable mood as Maleficent ever exhibited, Rose moved over and leaned her head on Maleficent's shoulder. She felt Maleficent stiffen in surprise and anticipated a sharp remark and immediate banishment back to her side of the tiny room, but neither came.

She started to say something, or perhaps a thousand things all at once, but none of her thoughts translated easily into words. Instead, she linked her arm with Maleficent's and settled herself against Maleficent's side in silence, still half-expecting to be pushed away.

At last, Maleficent did break the silence, but her words were cryptic at best. "I lived half a dozen of your lifetimes before I knew your name," she said quietly.

Rose didn't know how to respond. She held onto Maleficent's arm tighter.

"Under different circumstances," Maleficent continued, "I would live thousands of years after you died."

After another long silence, Rose whispered, "I know that."  _Humans are forgetful in their transience_ , Kinsale wrote in Acacia's biography. She knew it in the way she knew most things about Maleficent: abstract things she had been told, had even read in the words of others, but couldn't really conceptualize. Maleficent could tell Rose that she had murdered and that she would do it again, that she felt no shame in telling a perfect lie, and that she would have killed Rose without a second thought if things had gone differently, and Rose would respond the same way. She knew.

"Yet you sit at my side," said Maleficent. There was some unidentifiable mixture of emotions in her voice...almost like amusement layered over melancholy layered over the faintest glimmer of hope.

Her first response was one she managed to swallow. Not even if they were both going to die at sunrise could she admit it. Rose wasn't certain exactly what the worst result would be. Maleficent casting her away? Looking upon her with disgust and loathing which she'd heretofore managed to conceal?

The worst might be the most likely to happen: Maleficent wouldn't believe her. Regardless of her personal feelings towards Rose, she would find it too unfathomable to consider any other reaction.

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, but that did nothing to stop a few tears from escaping her eyes. "Yes," she said at last. After another immeasurable silence, she felt Maleficent's head resting lightly atop her own, and Maleficent's fingers running through her hair.

The next moment, the world seemed to explode.

Everything was colour and light and rumbling, crashing, shattering. Rose was blinded by the abrupt brightness. It engulfed her, overloaded her senses, and her only coherent thought was to hold on, to keep her grip on whatever it was that tethered her to this world as it fell apart around her, just like every other world in which she had ever dared to imagine she belonged.

Maleficent held onto her without protest as the blurred vestiges of reality returned to her. They were still in their room, huddled together on one of the two small beds. Outside their window, the sky was splattered with violent colour in strange designs that seemed like they might mean something to someone, and the sound of the explosion had been replaced by deafening silence.

This time, Rose didn't need to ask what was happening.

"We only have a moment or two," Maleficent whispered into Rose's hair.

Rose didn't respond. She only faintly realized that she was trembling. Surely there were a thousand things she ought to say, but as seemed to be her curse, none of them would make their way past her throat.

"Rose."

"Yes?" Even this simple word was tremulous.

"Please reconsider."

Rose pulled away from Maleficent, still clutching the fabric of her sleeves, and took in the troubled expression upon her face. She noted the way her hair had begun to grow back in, the way her skin had regained its pine green hue. She noted that there were no longer any scars on her face, and the burn marks had faded into faint patches of rosy grey here and there. Her eyes traced the unique shape of Maleficent's face, the dramatic arch of her eyebrows, the subtle curves of her lips, and committed these things to memory, that they might give her the strength she needed to meet her chosen fate with dignity.

Hand still shaking, she reached out and touched Maleficent's cheek with the tips of her fingers. Maleficent did not flinch away. "I can't," she said.

Maleficent covered Rose's hand with her own. She looked like she wanted to say something, stopped, then averted her eyes and began again.

"Stay in the middle of the formation," said Maleficent, her voice even quieter than it had been. She spoke hurriedly, and even in the eerie stillness, Rose could barely understand her. "Save your strength for healing unless you're certain you see a window no one else sees. Stay close to me when possible. I can aid you and fight at the same time. Kinsale can't, but she will defend you at the risk of her own safety. The others won't help you. Do you understand?"

Rose nodded.

"People will underestimate you. Use that to your advantage. Let them think you are weak, and then turn around and take them down when the moment is right."

Rose nodded again.

"Rose," said Maleficent, her voice suddenly firm.

"Yes?"

Maleficent's free hand caught Rose's chin and willed her to meet her eyes. "Don't worry about anyone but yourself. Take care of yourself."

Rose swallowed.  _Yes, ma'am_ , a part of her wanted to snap, but of course that wasn't the best course of action. Another part of her was deeply touched, because she realized that Maleficent was only saying these words, which came off as an emotionless list of instructions, because she cared what became of Rose. Still another part—small and weak and buried as deep in her heart as she could manage, but nevertheless wild and reckless and full of a desperate passion that could never fully be contained—wanted to share just one of Rose's thoughts with Maleficent before she went charging to her death.

 _But what use would it be?_  she reminded herself coldly. "All right," she said, and Maleficent nodded curtly. Before she could withdraw, though, Rose caught her hands. "But Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"You must promise me the same," said Rose, as firmly as she could manage. "That you'll take care of yourself, I mean."

Maleficent's brow furrowed subtly, and something strange glistened in her dark eyes, but again, she nodded curtly. "Very well," she said. She withdrew and climbed over the edge of the bed, then offered her hand to Rose to help her down. Rose leaned on Maleficent heavily for support, for she was still trembling, and they made their way into the main room, where Zenovia, Kinsale, and her brothers were assembling.

"From the look of the storm, they're not far," said Zenovia as Rose and Maleficent entered. "In formation, please."

The two elder of Kinsale's brothers took the front, the two younger the sides. Their attacks were vicious, but their form was horrible, and Zenovia was convinced they'd accidentally hit one of their comrades with their folly. Maleficent was the tallest and the best fighter, and therefore took the back, with Kinsale and Zenovia on either side, and Rose in the center of the formation, which was ideal both for healing and for hiding.

Not ten seconds after they had assembled came another explosion, louder, brighter, and more horrible than the first. It blew the entire roof off of the small fortress and knocked them all to their knees. Before most of them had even scrambled to their feet, Zenovia called, "GO!" and they charged ahead into the blinding light that surrounded them.


	22. The Fracture

Rose very nearly fainted at the mere sight of them.

A never-ending sea of winged men and women, armed with wands like those her aunts possessed, stretched out in every direction. They seemed to glow collectively with a garishly colourful aura of magic, and they approached at a steady pace. Though Rose had never seen the ocean, she imagined that the sound their flapping wings made must be what the crashing of waves sounded like. It occurred to her that this might be the closest thing she ever heard.

The good fairies landed and drew their wands across their bodies in the defensive position, in perfect synchronization. Rose glanced around at the seven fairies who stood around her and prepared to die. She tried not to close her eyes—she did not want to face death as the coward she knew she was.

Before even one of them had fired, Zenovia struck the ground with her staff and a few of them fell out of sight.

The shots that were fired thereafter were far too many and too fast for Rose to keep track of. The good fairies attacked in rapid succession and in strange combinations that seemed impossible to predict, but the wicked fairy women always seemed to do just that. The men were not so fortunate—they fired just as haphazardly, and took blow after blow with a resilience which was almost unnerving.

It took Rose several minutes to realize that she was still alive and ostensibly in no imminent danger. She had not yet been hit, nor even directly attacked. She held her staff before her in feeble defense, frozen in terror, and focused her energy on remaining conscious. It occurred to her, vaguely, that one of Kinsale's brothers had dropped to his knees.  _Poor man_ , she thought.  _There are so many of them. How could he have hoped to weather so many direct blows? Will someone help him? Or will they leave him to perish?_

When another fell to his knees, a dreadful realization dawned on Rose: the job of helping them belonged to her.

She rushed forward from the position she'd backed into—where she was partially obscured from view by the landscape—and gave a mighty cry of "Stand back!" to rid the fallen men of their assailants, then fell to her knees beside them and began administering the proper healing spells. She'd had so much practice on herself over the past few weeks that the spells—the appropriate ones for each kind of injury—came to her mind and her fingertips naturally. They were much easier to perform on someone else, particularly someone whose body was made to heal itself from almost anything.

After a few minutes, the first man—Inopius—was back on his feet and fighting in much the same fashion as before, and Rose moved on to Velan. As soon as she got him back on his feet, though, Merick had fallen, and so went the progression. The women never fell, and Nicodemus fell only once.

The good fairies dropped like flies.

Rose didn't notice it at first. She was first preoccupied by abject terror, and then by her duty to heal the fallen men. A moment came when no one was badly injured, and Rose glanced up in the direction from whence the good fairy army had come. She gasped. A fraction of the initial masses remained, and they seemed to be slowly backing away. Moments later, they began, one by one, to turn and take flight in the opposite direction.

It was at this point that Rose made a dreadful mistake: she relaxed.

Suddenly the loud streams of colour that lit up the sky consolidated—congealed, really—into clouds, and those clouds darkened from something absurdly colourful to something deeply disturbing. Rose had never seen storm clouds that dark.

There was an enormous clap of thunder, and from those ominous clouds burst forth bolts of green lightning. It didn't take Rose long to realize that the lightning wasn't striking at random. Every single bolt hit one of the good fairies who were fleeing for their lives, and struck them down to the ground. Rose didn't need to wonder whether they were dead. Somehow she knew it in her very soul.

She watched them die one after the other with a kind of sick fascination. When the sight of them overwhelmed her, she turned away, only to be met with something even worse—something she ought to have known, ought to have expected...something which at the very least shouldn't have surprised her. Maleficent was controlling the lightning.

Rose fell to her knees and vomited, then abruptly lost consciousness.

* * *

Not an hour after Fauna and Leah had fled their unfortunate campsite, they ran into more trouble.

"Halt!"

Fauna's mind did not normally work terribly quickly. But she recognized this voice, and she knew what it meant, and perhaps because she was so singularly focused on the goal in mind, Fauna made a snap decision in a vain effort to rescue her plan from utter ruin.

Before Leah could fully coax her horse to a stop, Fauna whispered, "Run."

Leah looked over at her with wide, panicked eyes. "What?"

"Stop right where you are!" came Felicity's voice once more.

"Run," said Fauna again, quietly, and with a firm nod. "Continue in this direction, then follow the magic. You'll find her."

"But what—"

"Run!"

Leah sent her horse into a gallop, and just as Fauna had suspected, the good fairies weren't interested in her. They approached rapidly, but they only surrounded Fauna. None of them even tried to follow the Queen. It was unlikely they even knew who she was—only that she was human, and therefore permitted to get out of harm's way.

"Mistress Fauna," said Felicity as she approached, "I never pinned you for one who would willfully shirk her duty."

Fauna tried to take a deep breath, but to no avail. She was quivering like a leaf. "All d-due respect..." She began to wring her hands. "My duty is to my k-kingdom."

The good fairies around her began to mutter amongst themselves. Fauna swallowed thickly. Felicity frowned. "Perhaps you misunderstood before, when you and your sisters stayed with me. This is far greater than human matters."

Again Fauna took a shuddering breath. She stuck out her chin and looked Felicity right in those icy blue eyes. "I was taught in my youth that there are no greater matters."

Felicity took another step towards her, a clear effort to remind Fauna how very much taller she was. "Do you always believe everything you were taught in your youth?"

 _If you only knew how much I've had to rethink!_  Fauna thought sadly. "No," she said aloud, and offered no further explanation. How could she ever put such a complex matter as who she was versus who she had become into words before Felicity?

"You're an exceptional healer, Fauna," said Felicity. "Your sisters told me so. Your services in this war will be invaluable."

Fauna might have known when Zalia found her that there would be no escape. Perhaps she had known, in a way. It was just that she'd foolishly hoped for a bit more time. "I've already told you where my loyalties lie," said Fauna, even though she hadn't, really. Fauna's only remaining loyalty lay with Rose. Her sisters had chosen the way of war, and Fauna had chosen to follow the dictates of her own heart. Her heart told her to put the needs of her loved ones before the needs of the good fairy race...or, as it seemed to Fauna, their bloodlust.

"And still you seem to be under the impression that you have a choice," said Felicity coolly.

Fauna bowed her head and closed her eyes for a moment. "No," she said. "I'm not." She looked up at Felicity again, with resignation. "I only wanted to be clear about where I stand."

With a wave of Felicity's hand, Fauna was outfitted in the brightly coloured armour worn by the rest of Felicity's troop. "Where you stood doesn't matter," said Felicity. "Where you stand now is with your fellow good fairies."

Fauna said no more. She nodded silently even though she didn't agree, and when Felicity gave the word, she fell into the center of the ranks, where healers traditionally stood. To her utter horror, they took flight in the direction of the Western Woodlands, exactly where Fauna had been leading Leah.

Fauna's throat tightened and she struggled not to cry. Did Felicity know who they'd be going up against? Hadn't she been the one who had warned Fauna and her sisters that going up against Maleficent, even in a large group, was suicide? Maleficent wasn't alone now. She had Kinsale and Zenovia and very likely other powerful allies...and she had Rose. And Felicity could tell Fauna whatever she liked. Fauna's loyalty was always with Rose.

For whatever good that did anyone.

* * *

When Rose came to, and as soon as she had obtained the wherewithal to understand the difference between up and down, two things occurred to her: that she lay propped slightly upright, and that someone with greenish hands was holding her around the middle.

"Kinsale?"

"Good to see you awake, pet."

Slowly, the events which had led to her unconsciousness began to trickle back into Rose's conscious memory, and her entire body contracted with the pain of what she had seen. "Oh," she said simply, but it was a dry sob of a sound.

Kinsale smoothed Rose's hair from her face, which she vaguely realized was dripping with sweat, although the air around them seemed awfully chilly.

"You did very well, darling. Don't you worry."

"No," Rose argued miserably. "No, no, no! It was dreadful! How could..." She wasn't certain exactly how she intended to finish that statement.  _How could you?_  Somewhere, buried deep in Rose's subconscious, she could remember a time when she'd felt afraid of Kinsale. But she'd had no time for that feeling. Kinsale had been kind to her. After a lifetime of kindness, Rose had been living with the utter antithesis of kindness for upwards of a week. Rose had believed in Kinsale's kindness not because she had a very good reason to, but because she needed to.

Kinsale might well be fearsome. Kinsale might well be disloyal—it was very likely, for she seemed to enjoy a good story far more than how its outcome affected her friends.  _How could you?_  belied Rose's relative ignorance of such matters.

"How could it have come to this?" she wondered at last.

"Centuries," said Kinsale quietly.

"But did she have to..." Rose couldn't finish the sentence. Even thinking the words— _kill them all?_ —made her sick to her stomach. She squeezed her eyes closed.

"I don't know, pet," said Kinsale. "I could tell you yes, but perhaps not. There are thousands more of them than of us."

"They were running for their lives!" Rose sobbed. She tried to sit up, but promptly fell back into Kinsale's arms. "They were running for their lives!" she wailed again, defeated.

"Shh." Kinsale began to stroke her hair once more. "I know, darling. I know."

But did she know? How many people had Kinsale killed in that battle alone? What of her lifetime, which was two or three times that of Maleficent? If circumstances had been different, Kinsale might have aided in killing Rose, and  _never lost a moment's sleep over it_ , just as Maleficent had insisted she wouldn't have.

And yet here she sat in the middle of a battlefield, holding Rose like a child, soothing her the way no one had since her life had been simple, and she'd hardly needed soothing.

The last time Rose could remember any of her aunts tending to her like this had been when she was eight or nine and she'd taken a bad fall in the woods. It was unusual for her—she'd been blessed with natural grace, and she knew the forest like the back of her hand. But she'd been caught up in daydreams and she'd fallen from a tree branch where she often perched. She fell on her knees and one of her elbows, and they bled and ached. Rose hurt too badly to move, and she'd cried out for her aunts to come and find her.

Her aunts had carried her home and proceeded to bustle around in a kind of frenzy. She realized now how lost they must have been—Rose had never hurt herself before beyond the odd scrape or splinter, and she'd learned early on how to tend to those things herself. They cleaned her wounds and clumsily bandaged them, and then they all sat around her for the rest of the evening, talking and singing to distract her from the pain. Aunt Fauna had stroked her hair just the way Kinsale did now. Aunt Flora had scolded her for going too far, and Aunt Merryweather had scolded Flora for scolding Rose.

The next time Rose needed that kind of soothing was years later. And however lost her aunts had been when she was eight or nine, they had been utterly clueless when she'd turned sixteen.

Rose wasn't injured now, and even if she were, she'd be able to heal herself from all manner of injury. The kind of thing that had befallen her when she was a child would be a few minutes' work for her now. What ailed her was not physical, nor even tangible in any real way. It was as though her soul ached from the horrors she had witnessed.

She thought of the way her aunts had consoled her when she'd been in physical pain, and the way Maleficent had held her when she'd quivered in fear for her life. She knew they loved her—or, in Maleficent's case, cared for her enough to protect her from mortal injury—each in profoundly different ways, which were almost irreconcilable with one another, and yet she also knew that none of them had even the faintest idea of how to help her through her current internal predicament.

What made Kinsale any different? Rose had taken to her against all reason, and Kinsale had merely seemed to go along with it, perhaps simply because she had nothing better to do that particular day. She'd protected and taught and saved Rose because of her loyalty to Maleficent. Why, then, should Kinsale sit here with Rose's head in her lap, when Rose was not injured and perfectly capable of healing herself, and murmur  _I know?_  Did she know?

Rose shifted onto her side and grabbed a handful of Kinsale's skirt. She could tell herself all she wanted that trusting Kinsale had been a fool's move. If they met now instead of then, Rose wouldn't have been nearly so open. But in this moment, Rose felt a rush of fondness for her unlikely friend. She hadn't realized how much she needed this kind of comfort—the kind she could readily understand.

"I love you, Kinsale," she said quietly. It had been a long time since she'd said that to anyone. In the meantime, the concept of love had become almost too heavy for her to bear. What had once seemed so pure and simple and obvious now seemed so strained and difficult and complicated. And perhaps it was, yet there was a very large part of Rose that wanted to believe it was still possible, in spite of all of that.

Rose might never see her family again—her aunts or her estranged parents. She'd say it to them now, if she could. Even if it was as difficult as she knew it would be. Even if they stared listlessly at Rose in Chains, drained within an inch of her life, she knew without a doubt that she would say the words, for to die without saying them was a terrible fate.

Maleficent...well, she added a mass of other complications to the mix. Rose could scarcely even admit in the deepest, darkest corners of her subconscious that she loved Maleficent. It seemed such a terrifying circumstance—not merely to love someone who couldn't love her back, but to love someone who wouldn't even understand her feelings, who wouldn't even believe them, who might revile her for the very nature of them. Why should she love Maleficent? How could someone love a person who had once wished her such fatal ill?

It occurred to Rose that silence had reigned between them for some time. It was eerie—only broken by the occasional whistle of the wind. When Kinsale spoke, her voice was higher in pitch than usual, and all she uttered was, "What did you say?"

Rose suddenly remembered what Kinsale had said to her about wicked fairies and love...that it was said they were incapable of it...that it took them more time than they were given. She'd been talking about Mistress Joy and her female lover, Terra the good fairy, who had been put to death. But perhaps the words had been more personal to Kinsale than Rose realized.

Kinsale had spent her life accumulating the stories of others—people she deemed more interesting or famous than herself. But she and Maleficent and even Zenovia had warned Rose that the lives of wicked fairies were by nature complex, and rife with tragedy. In spite of her fame, her success, her countless friends and admirers, it was very likely that Kinsale, like the rest of her species, had spent her entire existence—some forty times Rose's lifetime—struggling with the idea of love. And here Rose was, yet again, trying to impose her own life experiences on people who had enough problems to deal with.

But she had already said it once, and she wouldn't take back something she meant. Rose could love Kinsale. Kinsale could have wished her harm, but for whatever reasons, she didn't. Kinsale was her friend. Kinsale was wise and observant, and she had realized that everyone—even and especially wicked fairies—deserved and needed love. "I said, I love you."

Kinsale was silent for another moment or two, and Rose began to wonder whether perhaps she should have taken it back. She didn't want to upset Kinsale, or make her feel uncomfortable—precisely the reason she hadn't said anything of the sort to Maleficent. Perhaps Kinsale's discomfort with such matters was just much better concealed than was Maleficent's.

After a long silence, Rose fell asleep, or perhaps lost consciousness again. All she knew was that Kinsale never responded. She didn't feel the way Kinsale's body convulsed with silent sobs.

* * *

Leah did not slow down until she was surrounded by trees—strange trees, the likes of which she had never seen before. She had no idea where she was, relative to home or relative to her destination, and only Fauna's vague and unhelpful instructions to guide her.

Hours later, she still did not seem to be any closer to or further away from anything in particular, and her entire body ached. She dismounted her hourse and all but collapsed onto the ground, where she propped herself up against the base of a tree and wrapped herself in the only blanket she had. She hadn't expected to need much protection from the elements-Fauna's magic had accounted for much.

Leah knew nothing of magic. The only magic she had ever seen with her own eyes was that the three good fairies had bestowed upon her daughter...and of course, that of Maleficent. But she remembered little about it. A faint glimmering in the air...perhaps a colour? She didn't know. How on earth was she supposed to locate magic when she didn't even know what it looked like?

Sometime early the next morning, when she had three or four times drifted in and out of a troubled sleep, Leah got her answer.

The sound of a loud bang—not unlike a particularly violent clap of thunder—brought Leah scrambling to her feet. Leah's horse reared up on her hind legs and whinnied fearfully, then bolted into the woods. Leah was far too overcome with terror even to attempt to call her back.

Not a few yards away from where Leah stood the night sky abruptly ended in bright, multicoloured clouds. They were ugly and somehow frightening, and Leah felt compelled to run in the other direction. But of course she couldn't do that. This must be what Fauna had meant.

Leah adjusted her knapsack, picked up the few things her horse had dropped, and headed in the direction of the magical clouds on foot.

* * *

The next day, Rose's group began to travel. On the way, she learned that Kinsale had devised an elaborate scheme to mislead Sara's troops and buy them more time, while simultaneously uniting what existed of the wicked fairy troops. This had been her purpose all along behind writing those thousands of invitation cards to a party that would never happen. Now that Sara had cracked her code, though, they must find new places to hide.

Everywhere they went—immediately, moments later, or even hours or days thereafter—there came another army of good fairies just as enormous and intimidating as the first. After a week or so, the battles began to blur together, and Rose couldn't say with any certainty where one began and the other ended.

Rose quickly grew to loathe herself. She survived battle after battle relatively unharmed. She spent most of her time crawling from body to body, nursing Kinsale's brothers back into fighting condition. When the battle ended, Rose found the nearest river or stream and did her best to scrub the blood from her hands. None of the wicked fairies knew how to remove the stain with magic.

After weeks, or perhaps months, of constant travel and constant fighting, one of the women occasionally required Rose's assistance—usually Kinsale, sometimes Zenovia. Maleficent had not fallen once. Tending to Kinsale and Zenovia was far worse, because Rose knew them so much better, and because she liked and respected them. Much as she didn't want Kinsale's brother's to die, she didn't much care for them as people. If she'd ever been unable to save one of her friends and mentors from death, well...she tried not to think about that too much.

In fact, she tried to avoid thinking about anything. There wasn't much to eat, which was just as well, because Rose couldn't keep anything down. She vomited frequently—maybe twice a day or more—and she would have lost three or four of her teeth in the first fortnight if Kinsale hadn't pointed her in the direction of a few helpful healing spells.

The condition of her mental stability only worsened when, during one battle, Rose noticed something. She didn't know what it was, exactly—and couldn't put a name to it at first. It was some...quality about one of the good fairies. At first she thought it was merely that this particular fairy was particularly small and reminded her of her aunts, but it was a pudgy young man with curly, light brown hair—nothing like Rose's aunts—so what should have caught her attention about him?

As she watched him, she noticed that he didn't fire any sort of attacks at them. He mostly darted between the other fairies, and the only spells he cast were upon them.

_Oh._

"Zenovia?"

She was the nearest to Rose at the time. Rose's stomach was churning and she felt as though she would vomit. She should not do this. She should let that little fairy be. They would probably win the battle, anyway. They'd won all the others so far. If she told Zenovia what she had seen, that little fairy would be struck down dead before he knew what hit him.

Rose continued to watch him. At some point she had fallen to her hands and knees, overcome by the sickness to her stomach at the mere force of her realization. She could not do this. She could not bear this burden—she could not hold a life in her hands this way. Perhaps he was against her, but she was not against him. She was against the regime that wanted to eradicate her friends. She was not against one little good fairy just like three other little good fairies she knew.

Another good fairy—comparatively tall, muscular, with long black hair—was hit and fell out of sight. The little male fairy rushed to her side and helped her back to her feet, and she fired a shot so direct and so fueled by rage that it flew across the battlefield, hit Kinsale squarely in the chest, and knocked her off her feet.

"Zenovia!"

Zenovia might not have heard Rose the first time, or she might have ignored her, but she threw up a shield and whipped her head around to glare down at her now. "What?"

With a trembling hand, Rose pointed to the little good fairy.

Zenovia made an exasperated hand gesture, another silent  _What?._

"He's a healer," said Rose, voice barely above a whisper. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she saw realization dawn on Zenovia's face.

"Thank you," said Zenovia with a curt nod.

Rose covered her face and wept into her hands. She couldn't watch what she knew would happen next.

That was the first battle after which more than a handful of good fairies escaped with their lives. When Rose gathered up the courage to emerge from behind her hands, it was because someone was shaking her shoulder urgently.

Rose looked up into Maleficent's eyes, and she momentarily forgot about her own personal tragedy when she saw them sparkling with concern. Maleficent gestured to the area that had been occupied by their small troop, and where Rose could only see Zenovia kneeling.

"No..." No, the rest of them were there. They had all fallen to the ground during battle, and Rose had been too overwrought to help them.

With a kind of inhuman wail, Rose forced herself onto her feet and rushed over to the fallen men. Nicodemus had a few broken bones, a bad cut in his abdomen, a few more scratches that would heal on their own. Velan had taken some kind of nasty blow to the head, but a combination of spells and a bandage got him awake and responding. Inopius's arm had been blown almost cleanly off his body. It took Rose several minutes even to slow the bleeding, and she had never dealt with anything that had actually been severed. What she did in the end was to reattach the bones, and then essentially to sew the skin of the arm back onto the shoulder. She wasn't certain whether this would be at all successful in the long run. Perhaps Zenovia would know of something better.

Zenovia. Zenovia had been kneeling over someone or something. Rose looked up to see Zenovia carefully running her hands over Kinsale's body in precise, intricate patterns. Kinsale lay flat on her back, limbs twisted in strange directions, and Rose remembered the nasty spell that good fairy had fired at her after she'd been healed. What had it been, exactly?

"Is she going to be—"

"Tend to your own work, Rose," Zenovia snapped.

Rose wanted to protest, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw one fallen man she had missed before. Rose couldn't quite make it up onto her feet, so she more or less crawled over to where Kinsale's youngest brother Merick lay, and immediate screamed in horror.

Merick's head had been cut off. There was a full foot's length between his head and his body, where the grass had been drowned in blood. His eyes were wide, and his face was a dreadful, puffy, greyish mess. Rose screamed again and again, until finally, Maleficent rushed over to her and clamped a hand over her mouth. "Silence!" she hissed. "Do you think that now would be an appropriate time to engage in another battle?"

Rose turned and buried her face in Maleficent's dress, and she grasped Maleficent's arms tightly. Maleficent stiffened, but she did not attempt to pull away.

"I couldn't save him!" she sobbed. "I couldn't save him! I'm so sorry! I'm so, so, so, so..."

Maleficent rested her hands lightly on Rose's back. She didn't say anything, but that was just as well. Rose was utterly inconsolable.

Eventually Maleficent had to drag Rose to her feet, but Rose could barely support her own weight on her shaking legs. Maleficent easily scooped Rose up into her arms and carried her back to their current campsite, then left her there to retrieve the bodies of those who were actually injured. Rose hadn't even enough emotion left in her to hate herself for being such a burden. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that poor little good fairy she had personally condemned to death, then Kinsale lying twisted and lifeless, then Merick—handsome, stoic Merick, who seemed so very much younger than his brothers somehow—reduced to a severed head.

Rose was soon joined by Kinsale, Inopius, and Velan. Nicodemus was well enough to walk on his own. Kinsale was the only one who hadn't come to yet.

Zenovia knelt over Rose and lightly touched her forehead. "Tend to Kinsale," she said. "Perhaps you can think of something more to do for her."

Rose nodded dumbly. She struggled to move. Her entire body ached in a way she hadn't thought possible, and she felt a kind of heaviness in her heart like nothing else she had ever known. Maleficent had laid Kinsale down right next to Rose on the mats they used for sleeping, though, and so Rose propped herself up the best she could and turned to look at her friend.

And here came the self-loathing. If she hadn't been so distracted by her own personal tragedy, Rose would have come to Kinsale's aid right away. If the spell the good fairy had fired was something that worsened over time, Rose might have waited too long. There might be no hope of saving her, and it was all Rose's fault, because she had been busy weeping over someone who, whether she liked it or not, was her enemy.

Weeping over her enemy.

Something dreadful suddenly occurred to Rose. What if her aunts were somehow involved in this war? She scarcely remembered anything about them from her time in the Chains. Aunt Fauna had been around often enough, but she was mostly inconsolable, and Aunt Flora had only showed up once to scold her. For weeping over her enemy.

Ten, twenty, thirty spells had no observable effect on Kinsale. In fact, her breathing seemed more and more laboured, and Rose feared she was only making it worse by blindly firing spells. Rose heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, perhaps because she was too exhausted to weep anymore, and then she lay down beside her and wrapped her arms around Kinsale's waist.

For the first time in her long and largely horrifying journey, Rose began to wonder whether she had been foolish all along. Had her husband and parents and aunts, distant and condescending and isolating though they were, only been trying to protect her? Had they seen what she hadn't—that her kind-heartedness toward her enemies must someday bring harm to her friends?

Rose squeezed her eyes closed. Foolish or not, she still could not regret her decision to save Maleficent from her death sentence. But now that the friends of her former enemy were her friends, now that she would trust her former enemy with her life, now that she knew for a fact that she could not bestow the same trust upon the women who had raised her as their own...and now that she had no idea where those women were or whether she might someday meet them in battle... How could Rose sort out her loyalties now? Who was her friend and who was her enemy, and how long before it all changed again? When both sides were filled with people who only wanted to live to see another day, did it really matter who was Good or Wicked or Right or Wrong anymore?

* * *

Fauna wasn't the only fairy who had been reduced to tears.

Felicity's troop was tasked with breaking up groups of wicked fairies—attacking them in enormous numbers at once, with such explosions of magic that they would be hopelessly scattered. There was a small chance they wouldn't survive the explosions at all.

What of the good fairies? What of innocent humans, if they happened to be too close?

Those were Felicity's orders, she said. Collateral damage was an acceptable risk.

* * *

Leah ran through unfamiliar territory like a madwoman for days, then for weeks. Everywhere she went, she saw signs of battle. Mostly the bodies of good fairies, identifiable only by their wings and wands. Every once in awhile, she'd see a wicked fairy, identifiably by their greyish-green skin, but those were few and far between.

Which led Leah to believe the wicked fairies were winning.

Leah eventually stumbled upon a small village untouched by the war that seemed to surround it. No one recognized her—even if they would have normally, she must be frightfully dirty and unkempt—but they gave her food and drink and a place to sleep, and they told her that she was in the Eastern Woodlands and how to get to the Western ones.

She wondered whether they feared for their lives, with a war raging all around them, but each of them assured her that no human was in danger, so long as she stayed out of the way.

"The fairies are at war with each other," said one woman, who must be about Leah's age. "Good and wicked. They have no war with humans."

Another woman agreed, but she added, "The wicked ones will get you, though, if you stand in their way."

The first woman nodded sagely. After a moment, she quietly added, "So might the good ones now. I don't know."

Leah couldn't thank them with anything but words. She promised them she would repay them for their kindness one day, and though she knew they didn't believe her, they sent her warmly on her way, nonetheless.

She headed west—or more precisely, northwest—with a renewed sense of purpose. What had Aurora done to get "in the way" of the fairy war? Nothing! All she had wanted—if Fauna was to be believed—was freedom from the constraints of her birth. Surely she hadn't realized it would end this way.

And Leah could find out what Aurora wanted. She could find out what it was about being a princess that frightened her daughter, and she could help. She was certain that if she brought Aurora back, alive and well, she could encourage Stefan to agree on any number of things to make their daughter's life more livable—this she knew in her heart. Neither of them had wanted Aurora to suffer the way she had...they had simply believed at the time that there was no other way to ensure her freedom from Maleficent.

Leah had tried very hard not to consider that she might come face to face with Maleficent again. She'd somehow hoped that Fauna had a plan to catch Aurora alone, to talk to her without any wicked fairies around—particularly that one. What was Leah to do without the help of magic? Well. That she hadn't quite figured out yet. She held onto the hope those villagers had given her—that the fairies didn't actively want to harm humans...

So long as they didn't stand in the way. Which, Leah supposed, was exactly what she intended to do.

The next night, when Leah felt ready to drop down dead from exhaustion, she found only clusters of trees for shelter. She wasn't certain why exactly she couldn't get to sleep—she'd managed well enough before, despite equally dire circumstances—but it was just as well.

Sometime around midnight, there was an enormous explosion—bright, colourful, and deafening, and so all-consuming that Leah didn't even know which way to run.

* * *

Kinsale did not come to until the sky was grey (mixed with the strange pastel clouds of lingering magic) with the first light of dawn. When she stirred, Rose awoke promptly and scrambled into a sitting position.

"You're all right!" she breathed.

Kinsale smiled up at her, but said nothing.

Rose's brow furrowed. "Kinsale, can you tell me what sort of spell it was?"

Kinsale tried to speak, but she broke off into a strangled cough. Rose immedately began wracking her brains for spells that affected the throat or the lungs, and tried every one of them until the pained expression on Kinsale's face seemed to relax. Rose sighed and squeezed Kinsale's hand.

"I was going to tell you not to worry about me," said Kinsale. Her voice was raspy, but speech did not seem to pain her.

"How could I not?" Rose asked her.

Kinsale reached up and touched the side of Rose's face. "I'm a wicked fairy. I'll get better in time."

Suddenly Maleficent appeared from the entrance to the tent. Her face was the picture of stony neutrality, her voice harsh and cold. "Good. You're awake. Can you walk?"

Kinsale pushed herself up into a sitting position, where she closed her eyes and stayed for a long moment. "Bit dizzy," she murmured, "but I'll manage. Do we need to move on?"

"We needed to move on hours ago. Zenovia won't be happy."

Kinsale sighed. "You'd think the extra sleep would do her some good. Have you slept recently, Maleficent?"

Maleficent glared at her in response. "Prepare to depart," she said crisply, then ducked her head to come inside, and made her way over to where Zenovia slept.

As Kinsale stood, she glanced over at her brothers, who were also beginning to stir. She glanced once and looked away, then looked again more closely, and her shoulders stiffened.

"Where is Merick?"

Rose stood with Kinsale and grasped her arm, but before she could even begin to formulate the words, a half-awake Nicodemus informed her, "He's dead."

Rose waited, watched Kinsale like a hawk, but nothing happened. Kinsale stared blankly at an empty spot on the ground, brow slightly furrowed, body tensed...and then she nodded, patted Rose's hand and removed it from her arm, and proceeded to gather up her things.

They departed without incident, and life continued in the same hazy way it had before. A week or so passed. Kinsale and her three remaining brothers recovered completely before they met another battle, and this time, Rose was prepared. She still had to avert her eyes when she pointed out the healers among the good fairies—now that Rose knew what she was seeing, she spotted them immediately—but she did not hesitate. She thought of the good fairy who had been healed and instantly thereafter felled Kinsale, and she did what she had to do to protect her friends.

Rose only had to fight once. The fairy who targeted her was quick, but he was also small. Rose overpowered him easily, but she could not bring herself to really harm him. She used a spell to thrust him far back into the ranks somewhere, away from her. Let someone else decide his fate, for she could not.

She tried never to look at Maleficent during battle. Maleficent had never once been injured so badly that she could not continue to fight (which very likely said more about Maleficent than it did about her injuries), and Rose didn't want to watch her and her perfectly executed fire attacks and her deadly lightning storms. Rose didn't want to think about them—couldn't bear to think  _she's ruthless and she'll do anything to win_ —and she didn't want to think of what would happen if Maleficent finally did succumb to an attack.

Maleficent had told Rose to take care of herself, and Rose had made Maleficent promise to do the same. Maleficent was upholding her end of the bargain, as she always seemed to do. At the moment, when it came to Maleficent, Rose could handle no more than this simple assurance.

Rose couldn't say exactly what happened or when it happened. The days and the battles had begun to blur together again, and her thoughts were vague and difficult to follow (in no small part because she did not want to know where they led). One minute she was at work on a broken ankle or collarbone or possibly a severe burn, then the next minute the world erupted into sound and light and chaos, and Rose was screaming (everyone was screaming—it was as though the world was screaming) and running around in zigzags and circles because there was no escape.

She was eventually knocked flat on her face by a gust of magic like nothing she had ever experienced. White-hot pain shot through every bone, every muscle, every vein in her body, and she thought that she would die in a fiery explosion of her very own.

And when the noise and the light finally subsided, and the pain had subsided at least enough for Rose to form coherent thoughts, she realized that she was utterly alone.

"Maleficent?" she cried to the empty air. Her voice was strange to her own ears—high-pitched and strangled, and it hurt her even to think of speaking again.

The sky was beautiful in a horrifying way, as though paint had been haphazardly spattered upon thick stormclouds. The air was deadly silent, and Rose wondered whether she might be dead, herself, or caught in some strange place in between life and death. She had always imagined that death would hurt less than this.

"Maleficent?" she called again, though the effort caused her to cough and gasp for air. "Maleficent! Kinsale!" She was panting for lack of air. She couldn't breathe. "Zenovia! Maleficent? Anyone?"

Her desperate cries turned into faint, breathless pleas. She took one last look at the sky before she closed her eyes, for she fully expected that she would never awaken. As she had done when the war began, Rose reminded herself that she must meet her chosen fate with dignity.

* * *

The explosion should have come as no surprise to Maleficent. She supposed her high hopes had been the result of their winning battles thus far, but her group was comprised of the most skilled wicked fairy duelers in existence. She imagined the remainder of her race was not faring nearly so well.

When the explosion had passed, Maleficent found herself amid unfamiliar foliage. She must have traveled quite a distance, and her magic felt almost completely sapped from the shield she'd held up. She began walking in a random direction—there was no telling which way was which, for the sky was clouded with the remnants of the magical explosion, brighter than day, but without a ray of sunlight to be found.

At the slightest sign of movement, Maleficent's senses became immediately overactive. She stalked the cloaked, crouching figure she'd spotted hiding among the trees like an animal hunted its prey, and felt something like amusement when it sensed her presence, leapt to its feet, and began to run away.

Maleficent watched it go, observed and followed slowly. She sensed no magical aura from it—must be a human, and one with a comparatively lithe build. The way it ran was graceful, like a dancer, and something about its very essence felt strangely familiar to Maleficent, though she couldn't imagine why. Her party members would have been blown as far away from one another as possible by the explosion. More than likely, she would have to wait to be tracked down by one of them, for Maleficent had never been very good at finding anyone.

The cloaked figure stopped, ducked behind a tree. It had led them to the edge of an open field.

Something about the way it moved—the jittery twitch of the head, the small hands that protruded from the bulky cloak and clung to the sides of the tree behind which it so foolishly tried to hide...

What on earth was a human doing in the wake of a good fairy attack, and especially one which did not seem to possess any magic? Had the good fairies begun to employ human soldiers? Why would they need to? One wicked fairy could take out hundreds, or even thousands of humans. Sending an unarmed human into a magical war was pointless. The Good Fairy Code specifically stated that good fairies must protect humans above themselves if humans became entangled in fairy matters. If they were dishonouring that, there was no telling what other rules they would disregard.

"You cannot hide from me," said Maleficent. The cloaked figure froze, then abruptly began to run in the open, with no further attempts to hide.

Maleficent threw herself across the small field in a swirling gust of magic, landed gracefully, and grasped the cloaked figure by the wrist. She turned the stranger around sharply, and the hood of the cloak fell away to reveal a long mane of golden hair. Maleficent gasped, and before she could stop it, the question burst forth from her lips. "Rose?"

But of course it wasn't, and when the woman pushed back her hair with her free hand, Maleficent's expression hardened immediately, and she straightened her posture.

"Well," said Maleficent coldly. "What a pleasant surprise. I reach for a commoner, and lo. I catch a queen."

Queen Leah's eyes—the same violet blue of her daughter's—sparkled with fear, and Maleficent experienced an unprecedented twinge of guilt.


	23. The Monster

"Please." Leah could not stop herself from trembling. "If you're going to kill me, just... just make it quick."

Leah had only personally seen Maleficent twice before. Both of those times, Maleficent had kept her distance, been contented to exude that infamous quiet power from afar. While Leah had been vaguely aware that Maleficent was tall and thin, these descriptive terms captured nothing. Maleficent was not only tall, she was taller than anyone Leah had ever encountered, and she visibly craned her long neck to look down upon Leah. She was not only thin, but like a skeleton. Her prominent cheekbones were accentuated by a gaunt, hollow face. The hand that so painfully held onto Leah's wrist was made up of unnaturally long, bone-thin fingers. Without fully realizing it, Leah had previously believed that she would not recognize Maleficent without her signature horned headdress, but this proved to be utterly untrue. Not only were the sneer upon her lips, the curve of her nose, and the striking arch of her eyebrows unmistakable, but the hair atop Maleficent's head was short and black, and it created the same dramatic widow's peak suggested by her headdress.

Her expression even when neutral was dramatic and intimidating. Now, in response to Leah's plea for her life, Maleficent raised her eyebrows. "Now why would I do that?" she wondered quietly, and something about her calculated soft-spokenness only added to the terror she engendered. "There is a war afoot, you know. I expect so valuable a chess piece as a queen is worth a great deal to someone."

Before Leah could respond, the world began to twist and turn and shatter around her. Suddenly Leah was nowhere at all, without even the ground beneath her feet or the sky above her head to orient her. When she did experience solid ground again, she fell to her hands and knees upon it and clung to it for dear life. She was not allotted much time to feel relieved, however. She felt a white-hot surge of something coursing through her veins, and she screamed from the pain. Whatever had happened, it left her upright and unable to move anything below her neck.

She looked up and set eyes upon Maleficent once more. She struggled to think of what she'd meant to do before everything had stopped making sense to her, but she was overwhelmed by a dreadful remembrance: how could Aurora care so deeply for this creature over her own friends and family? "My daughter," she murmured tremulously. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"

Maleficent pulled Leah to her feet. Leah could feel that strange, frightening tingle of magic as it shifted and mutated, coursing through her veins. Her legs were permitted to walk, but only in one direction. This sensation wasn't unfamiliar to her, but she hadn't experienced it since...

"I had no hand in her escape," Maleficent informed her. "I was otherwise engaged."

"But..." that didn't answer any of Leah's questions, really. In fact, it only posed more. "But you know where she is?"

"Somewhere on the battlefield, I imagine," said Maleficent. Frank. Flat. Almost distracted.

Leah inhaled sharply, and her knees very nearly buckled beneath her. In spite of the magic working upon her and her obvious danger, she stopped walking. Maleficent stopped with her.

The worst. She must ask the worst question first. "Dead?" Leah breathed, eyes squeezed closed. "Is she...?" No. No, no, no, no,  _no_...

Maleficent heaved a small, exasperated sigh. "I rather doubt it," she replied crisply, then gave Leah's shoulders a shove. "She is fighting."

Leah moved forward, but with each step, she felt she would collapse.  _Not dead. Not dead. Still time. But..._  "Aurora? Fighting? But...but why?" This was all so surreal. Leah never thought she would see Maleficent again—or rather, she hoped she wouldn't. But Aurora had been willingly in her company for months! How could that be? And how could it be that Aurora was...fighting?

They began to ascend a winding flight of stairs, and Maleficent was silent for several minutes before she spoke once more, "Perhaps it will come as a surprise to you that your daughter believes very strongly in personal freedom. She does not believe that an entire species ought to be eradicated, regardless of its many flaws."

Personal freedom. That was what Fauna had said. Aurora wanted to be free...she'd desired some freedom she believed her friends and family could not provide for her...and so she'd become a slave to this monster, instead.

"At any rate," Maleficent amended, "when the first battle began, she elected to fight."

Elected. There were so many things Leah had forgotten about Maleficent—so many thing she had been unwilling to remember, so many she'd blocked from her mind. This—this quiet, refined, eloquence. A sham, but a very convincing one. And Aurora was so young, so blissfully unaware of the evils of this world...how could she have seen through this? How long had it been before Maleficent's true colours had shone through? Had Aurora already been too taken in by then?

Had this been Maleficent's plan all along? From the moment poor little Aurora had come down to the dungeons to see the condemned woman, had Maleficent seen not only a chance at freedom, but a renewed opportunity for her twisted vengeance?

Maleficent opened one of a handful of spider-infested doors. It revealed what appeared to be a child's bedroom, but with a desk piled high with thick books, and a metal bar with shackles affixed to the far wall. Maleficent chained Leah to the wall and cast another spell upon her. Leah's stomach churned as she tried not to consider the possibilities. How had the shackles gotten here? Whose room had this been? Where was that poor little child now?

"This was your revenge, then?" Leah asked Maleficent as she turned away. She tried to ignore the tears welling in her eyes, and to be brave. "You took my daughter from me... You gave her magic..." she shook her head, hated the dreadful tingling she felt all over her skin, holding her in place. "You went to the trouble to train her...you...you..."

It was too much. Even when Leah closed her eyes, she saw Aurora's features light up when she spoke of the wicked fairies who would send her to her death. "You  _endeared_  yourself to her!" Leah sobbed. "Only to make her some sort of...slave soldier for your cause?"

Maleficent did not move, but her shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. "That would have been clever of me, wouldn't it?" she murmured. Then she turned around and faced Leah once more. "What brings you so far from the Eastern Kingdom, Majesty?"

"You—but—"  _What?_  That was all she had to say? That it would have been  _clever_  of her? Certainly, if one could truly call such a horrifying scheme 'clever'! "I came to find her," Leah said, incredulous. Why else would she court such danger?

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. "And do what, precisely?"

She was unbelievable! And do what! Leah was almost angry—would have been furious if she were not so overwhelmed by aching sadness. "And apologize! And bring her home!"

Bizarrely, frighteningly, Maleficent seemed to genuinely consider this. As though the information were not obvious! And if it weren't, well then, wasn't Leah a fool for giving it to her? But how could something so simple evade someone so terrifyingly clever?

"Do you imagine that will go over well?" Maleficent wondered quietly. "I am given to understand that her most recent sojourn in the Eastern Kingdom was less than pleasant."

The dreadful churning sensation in Leah's stomach intensified. "Less pleasant than a battlefield?"

"Do you know much of battlefields?"

Leah frowned. "I know my daughter doesn't belong there," she replied, for lack of anything better to say.

Maleficent tilted her head thoughtfully, "But she does belong in magical Chains?"

"Why are you doing this?" Leah snapped. On top of the long-standing anguish that now acutely plagued her, she was beginning to feel uncommonly frustrated. If she had ever given the matter any thought, she would have probably been able to imagine that she and Maleficent would not see eye to eye; yet the actual process of having a conversation with someone who so clearly saw the world in such a foreign and incomprehensible light was jarring, to say the least.

"Doing what?"

Leah let out an indeterminate noise, equal parts vexation and pain.  _You don't understand!_  she wanted to cry.  _You don't understand, so why mock me?_  "Why do you care?" she wondered at last.

"Idle curiosity, Majesty," Maleficent replied evenly. A flicker of  _something_  crossed her eyes. Amusement? But as quickly as it had come, it had gone again, and Leah thought she must have imagined it. "She is my ally, after all."

"Ally!" Leah very nearly sobbed. "How can you speak such lies?"

Maleficent had no visible reaction. "Believe what you wish," she replied. "In any event, I expect she will make her way here sooner or later. Then you may have your highly anticipated chat."

Leah's heart leapt, and she felt almost dizzy, but as soon as her rush of hopefulness had come, it vanished, and it was replaced by a sickening heaviness in the pit of her stomach. Why would Maleficent say such a thing? Why would she allow Aurora to see Leah, chained up like this, held prisoner? Was Aurora so far beyond help, that she would not see her error in trusting Maleficent then? "And you don't think she will free me?" she asked aloud, timidly.

Maleficent's brow furrowed subtly. "Perhaps she would," she replied slowly, as though she were genuinely uncertain. "If she were able."

Leah shook her head sadly. "You are so confident in your control over her that you don't think she'll reproach you for chaining up her own mother?"

"I do not base my actions upon whether or not she will reproach me for them, Your Majesty," Maleficent replied coolly.

"Then you do have her enchanted," Leah said quietly. She hadn't really meant to say it aloud, or perhaps she had. What had she to lose now?

"Lest you have forgotten, Queen Leah, you are in the midst of a war. It is possible to ally oneself with someone despite various unfortunate differences in opinion."

"Differences in opinion!" Leah echoed. She was beginning to feel a bit frantic and short of breath. "I've read about your kind, you know, since last we spoke. Are you a wicked fairy who truly understands nothing of family? Can you truly believe that a child would respect a war over her bond to her mother?"

"Should I?" Maleficent wondered. "Did a mother forsake her orders to preserve the sanity of her daughter? Or did she stand and watch as her daughter's life force was drained from her by the Chains of Avasina?"

"Mistress Zalia told us it was..."

"That is precisely my point," said Maleficent, still unnervingly calm, coldly rational. "If you would believe the words of a stranger whose only credentials are that she was born into a race deemed Good over the words of your adult daughter on the matter of her own well-being, I see no reason why your daughter should believe you over me simply because you are related by blood."

"Because I love her!" Leah all but snarled, wrists straining against her chains. "I would do anything for her! Perhaps I've been wrong before, but I will never stop trying. I will never stop trying, and fighting to save her from this nightmare you've thrust upon her. I will always be her mother. You will always be the vengeful bitch who cursed her to die!"

Maleficent turned to face Leah, expression something akin to haughty amusement, black eyes burning with something else entirely. "How touching," she sneered. "How fortunate for Briar Rose that she has known such fierce devotion all of her days, and without even knowing it!"

The words felt as though Maleficent had stricken her. Stabbed her. Torn her to pieces. How could she not know? How could Aurora be unaware of Leah's love for her, when Leah overflowed with it, when it overwhelmed her, when every passing day was agony, not knowing what had become of her daughter?

Maleficent chuckled lightly. The sound sent an uncomfortable shiver through Leah's entire body. "Now, if you'll excuse me, this vengeful bitch has other matters to attend to."

"Has no one ever shown you such devotion, Maleficent?"

Perhaps it was not the wisest thing to say, but how much could her circumstances truly worsen? Leah was genuinely curious. Even though she believed she already had her answer, and even though she did not expect another, it wasn't at all the one she would have liked. Maleficent  _did_  know that kind of devotion...in the heart of a girl whose life she viewed, at the very best, as inconsequential.

To Leah's astonishment, Maleficent paused, long-fingered hand upon the doorknob.

Encouraged, and far too overcome by melancholy to feel particularly afraid, Leah pressed on. "Are you like Mistress Zenovia, who bested her mother in combat?" she wondered, perhaps even more quietly than before. "Did you take your own mother's life because you couldn't see how she loved you?"

Maleficent's grip on the doorknob tightened until her pine green knuckles turned white. When she spoke, her voice was entirely different than it had been before—no longer quiet and ethereal and terrifyingly neutral. It was low and harsh and filled with raw emotion. Leah could not decide which was more frightening.

"Do you think," she began through gritted teeth, "that if Zenovia's mother had shown her even the barest, most painful, twisted vestige of affection, even once in her life, that she would have been able to take her life?"

Leah's mind went momentarily blank, and she frowned, uncomprehending. Maleficent did not move even a single muscle. She waited like a statue of stone for a response Leah could not even begin to form. Slowly, in fractured pieces, the words Maleficent had spoken began to register in Leah's mind... _painful, twisted vestige of affection_... _once in her life_... _do you think_...

But Leah took too long at last, and Maleficent continued. "Do you think a child turns a staff upon her mother because she is having a temper tantrum? A bad day?" Her voice grew ever lower and colder. At last she moved, but only to turn cold, black eyes upon her prisoner.

"I have lived for one hundred and thirty years," said Maleficent. "I have read and studied and traveled extensively. I have never heard of a wicked fairy who waged war upon her mother. Wicked fairy children fight their mothers because they do not wish to die. Do you know what becomes of the children who do not win those battles you have so harshly condemned?"

Leah shook her head. Vaguely, it occurred to her that she was crying, but still her mind was strangely hazy, and her thoughts came in clumsy, meaningless fragments.

Maleficent's lip curled, and she turned away from Leah sharply. "Did you know that I had two older sisters?" she asked the opposing wall, and just as suddenly as she had been enraged, she was soft-spoken and neutral once more. "Since we have this time to chat, let me tell you a bit about them. Their names were Seraphina and Acacia. They didn't look very much like me. They were both very beautiful, and they had brown hair and eyes like my mother's." A long silence. Again Maleficent stood unnervingly still. "Seraphina was spirited. Argumentative. Acacia was quiet and sensitive. Seraphina liked to fight. Acacia liked to play with dolls."

Silence. Leah was acutely aware of the strangled sound her dry throat made as she attempted to swallow. She clenched her hands into fists, but it was no sign of aggression—only a vain attempt to stop herself from trembling. Still she could not form a single coherent thought. The only thing her mind offered up was a murky sense of dread.

At last, Maleficent spoke again. All of the fire, all of the passion, all of the power had completely fled from her voice. She was left sounding oddly hollow and far away. "Seraphina was sixteen, Acacia was fourteen, and I had just turned thirteen when our mother slit their throats."

Like water from a floodgate, Leah let out a loud, wracking sob which surprised her. She hadn't even realized her tears were imminent, nor that she had any left at all. "Oh, God..." she wailed.

Maleficent turned on her abruptly. "Zenovia also had two sisters, since this topic interests you," she continued, and Leah flinched. "But Zenovia was the eldest daughter. Her mother attacked her first, and she won. She was afforded the opportunity to protect her sisters."

"But then they died, too!" Leah sobbed. Were her wrists not chained to the wall, she would have thrown her arms out in a gesture of abject despair. How could this be so?

Maleficent did not reply. The only sound in the room—or so it seemed, in the entire world—was Leah's crying, but even that petered out before Maleficent spoke again.

"Yes," she said at last. "At the hands of Mistress Sara."

Leah's head fell back against the stone wall with a dull thud. Though it hurt, the physical pain was nothing to what she felt in her heart.

Maleficent straightened her posture and took a deep breath before continuing. "Perhaps you're right, Queen Leah, and my species knows nothing of that fierce devotion to which you lay claim. As we have always done, we are merely fighting for our lives in the ways we know. Perhaps my methods are by your standards unforgivably evil, but you'll understand if that is not my first priority."

Again Maleficent made to leave, and again Leah's words stopped her. This time, they were neither quiet nor meek, nor did they even make very much sense. "She loves you!" Leah shrieked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She loves you!" Leah repeated, twice as wildly as before. "Out of all of the countless people who love her, who would protect her with their lives, she adores the one person who will throw her life away as soon as it's convenient!"

Maleficent did not move. She seemed stunned, more than anything else, and this fueled Leah's fury. "I hope you live for another thousand years or more," she continued savagely, "and I hope you never once forget the helpless little girl who loved you even though you hated her!"

"Helpless! Helpless, indeed!" Maleficent's neutral expression broke suddenly into mirthless, incredulous laughter. "What she loves is what I was able to offer her: freedom and the means to ensure it for herself. In case it has escaped your notice," she added with a sneer, "there is nothing in me to love."

"You're going to break her poor heart!" Leah cried as Maleficent finally opened the door to depart. "It would be more merciful of you to kill her!"

Maleficent paused and turned burning eyes on the Queen once more. Leah only thought she had been frightened before. There was nothing that could compare to this. Maleficent's eyes—normally shining with some unthinkable inner monologue at which Leah could only guess—suddenly glazed over. They became flat with rage. She was like a wild animal. Robbed of her senses. And if Maleficent did the things she did in full possession of her senses...

What would she do now?

"If you dare to speak to me of death as a mercy to her again," Maleficent said at last, her voice barely above a whisper, "I swear to you I shall teach you the full meaning of that phrase."

This time, she did not bother using the door to depart.

Leah sat in utter shock for several minutes after the last flickers of green flame which marked Maleficent's exit had died out. Her mind was blank, or perhaps too full of white noise to produce any one thought concrete enough to hold onto. Leah felt as though she might be sick. She wanted to weep, but her eyes were mercilessly dry.

At last, one thought hit her. And the thought was so absurd, yet so undeniably true that it hurt. It must be so. It was impossible, yet it wasn't. Nothing else could account for the way she'd reacted. Leah had never been stricken, yet she imagined that this might be what it would feel like to take a blow to the stomach.

 _Maleficent loved Aurora, too_.

* * *

"Merryweather!"

"No."

To say that Merryweather had never been an early riser was something of an understatement. She was a heavy sleeper, and she relished every last moment of slumber that came her way. She'd be damned if after five hundred and forty years she let that old fuddy-duddy Flora stand in the way of her beauty sleep.

What was more, on this particular morning, Merryweather felt a bit like she'd been crushed under the weight of something incredibly large and unwieldy. The dull ache that pervaded her body reminded her of the descriptions she'd been forced to read over and over and over of magical explosions developed for warfare against the wicked fairies, should drastic measures ever become...

"Merryweather! This is not a game!"

Something about the groggy association Merryweather had made between her uncommon soreness and magical explosions caused her to crack open one eye, which she turned accusatorily upon her eldest sister. "Good morning to you, too," she grumbled.

Flora's frown deepened and she crossed her arms. "Honestly. Get up this instant!"

Merryweather opened both eyes, but only to roll them more effectively. "Well, when you put it so sweetly."

She was, of course, not nearly quick enough for Flora's liking. Flora launched into a tirade of meaningless nagging, punctuated by the occasional tug at Merryweather's arm. More than half a millenium of practice had rendered Merryweather almost entire impervious to her sister's fiddle-faddle, but in this particular instance, something contained therein jumped out at her.

"...whiling the day away in bed while our search party has been scattered to the four winds, and I don't see how you can just—"

"Scattered?" Merryweather interrupted her, but this was immediately followed by a loud groan as her feet touched the floor and she fully accepted that the pain she was experiencing was more than run-of-the-mill muscle fatigue. "Wild guess: magical explosion?"

"—lie there dreaming about whatever it is that goes on in that silly head of y—what?" Flora's eyes went wide, and the silence that followed her rant was almost discomfiting by contrast. "How did you know that?"

Merryweather rubbed her temples and slowly, gingerly tried to put weight on her feet. "I feel like hell," she replied flatly. Exactly how badly she was feeling was evidenced by the fact that she gleaned almost no enjoyment from having stunned her know-it-all sister, and hadn't even the energy to gloat. On top of her physical distress, there was a dreadful thought nagging at the back of her mind, and it took more than the energy she currently possessed to decide whether she wanted to voice her fear.

"Where are we?" she wondered instead.

Flora recovered quickly, and her exasperated demeanour recovered with her. "The Kingdom of the Two Rivers, of all the God-forsaken places."

Merryweather squeezed her eyes closed. Something about the name was familiar to her, but she was far too tired to think of why. "Where's that?"

Of course, Flora, who had never in her life been too tired to pat herself on the back, relished this opportunity to flaunt her superiority. "You don't remember?" she asked exaggeratedly, in lieu of a helpful answer.

"Obviously not."

"When I looked up all those ridiculous places Maleficent might have gotten off to and then we—what are you doing just sitting there like a lump? Get dressed!"

Merryweather looked down at her dress and back up at her sister, uncomprehending. She was dressed.

Flora narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. "Clean up! Change into something presentable, you disgusting thing! And we asked Mistress Kinsale about it, but all she told us was that it's next to the Dragon Country, and we meant to come by and see if—well, what are you waiting for?"

"Oh,  _excuse_  me, for a second there I thought you might have something useful to say." Merryweather poked around in her makeshift bed until she had located her wand, cast a quick cleaning charm on herself, and tucked her wand away with a pointed  _hmph_  in Flora's direction. "There. So we're near dragon country."

" _The_  Dragon Country."

"Even better. Where do you suppose the others are?" Where do you suppose—but no. The mere idea of it made Merryweather sick to her stomach.

"How in Heaven's name would I know a thing like that, Merryweather?"

Merryweather folded her arms, but her response had no real bite in it. "Flora the Great and Powerful admits she doesn't know something. If I had any idea what day it was, I'd mark this down on a calendar to celebrate forever."

Flora's response began with a  _hmph_ of her own. "If you paid attention for more than two seconds at a time, you'd be aware that it's the first day of—" Flora stopped abruptly, as though she had choked or been knocked out of breath. She'd been so quick to argue that she must not have realized...

The first day of Spring. Rose's birthday.

The questions Merryweather didn't want to ask flooded her mind. Where was Rose? What if she were with the fairies for whom this magical explosion was intended? What if she'd been killed already? Did Fauna know? Or was she still safely tucked away in the Eastern Kingdom without a clue?

After several minutes spent staring at one another in near-horror, Flora's expression hardened. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "Well. Since you're taking your merry time getting ready, I'll go out into the field to send up a signal."

"Send up a signal?" Merryweather echoed incredulously. She tried tto ignore the enormous flood of relief she felt at having something else to occupy her mind. "A magical explosion and you want to send up a signal?"

"It was Good Fairy magic, you ninny! I'm going to signal for help! One of Sara's troops will find us and help us."

That still didn't make very much sense to Merryweather, but it had in the meantime occurred to her that if Flora intended to leave, she could lie down a bit longer, and, for a few blissful moments, forget the unanswerable questions that plagued her. Perhaps if she had been a bit less exhausted or in a bit less pain or a bit less eager to ignore the fear gripping her heart, the imminent danger the outside world posed to her irritating older sister might have occurred to her, but as it was, Merryweather responded with a groan and flopped back onto her makeshift bed as Flora exited the shelter she had fashioned for them.

* * *

_"It's time to go, Rose."_

_Rose woke to find she had been sleeping face-down. Go where? she wondered as she rubbed her eyes. The room was warm and colourful like sunset, but the light burned her eyes. She could see only a shadow of her Aunt Flora._

_"Rose. It's time to go."_

_Oh. Now she remembered. It looked like sunset because it was sunset. Rose must have cried herself to sleep earlier. Princess Aurora was supposed to die today at sunset. Briar Rose was Princess Aurora._

_"Aunt Flora..." Her own voice was like an echo from far, far away. "Aunt Flora, I can't!" But the more vehemently she tried to speak, the further away her voice seemed to drift. "I can't!"_

_"You must, child." Flora's voice was not like an echo at all. "It's your destiny."_

_Rose began to feel distinctly panicked. "But I—Princess Aurora is—she's supposed to die today, Aunt Flora! You're not just going to let me—let me—are you?"_

_Flora was surprised. Shocked, even. "Of course not, dear!" she cried, and she explained that she and Fauna and Merryweather weren't her aunts at all like they'd said. They were good fairies who had protected the baby princess from the evil Maleficent and her nasty spell, and they would do it again tonight. "You're going to be all right now, Rose," she said, but of course that wasn't true at all._

_Rose wasn't going to be all right now. She was going to be Princess Aurora now. And if Princess Aurora wasn't going to die tonight, then Briar Rose would die in her stead._

Briar Rose awoke with a sharp intake of breath. The air burned her lungs, but she gasped for it with abandon. Vaguely, it occurred to her that she might have stopped breathing for some indeterminate amount of time.

The brightness of the sky burned her eyes, but she could not bring herself to blink, lest she never see it again. Just as it had been when she'd thought she would die, it was covered in a thick layer of garish stormclouds, bright as high noon, but with no way of knowing the actual time of day or night.

Before she knew the impetus, Rose's body reacted. She sprang to her feet, so overcome by the rush of adrenaline that the white-hot agony coursing through every last inch of her body did not incapacitate her. She realized as she summoned her staff like a reflex that she had reacted to a noise—a quiet little footfall upon dry grass—and with this new idea in mind, she turned frantic circles in search of the noise's source, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth hanging open as she continued to gasp for air.

A voice—a single sound. Monosyllabic, surprised, accusatory. This was all it took.

Rose was overcome by a surge of panic that took hold in her chest and spread like flooding water through her limbs and drowned out all hope of rational thought in a swirling sea of pure terror. Not even a second after she'd heard the voice, she fired in the direction from whence it had come the most vicious spell she hardly knew—a half-remembered thing she had only seen and never dared to attempt.

The voice shrieked. It screamed. It wailed. Gradually, Rose's mind began to clear, but only in fragments. First, Rose faintly realized that she was trembling violently. Next, that she was in tremendous pain. She heard the anguished cries of a familiar voice, but she did not yet possess the wherewithal to be truly concerned. Too many times had her dreams been haunted by the suffering of her loved ones, and this moment felt far less real than most of her nightmares.

Slowly and with heavy footfalls, Rose turned around to see what she had wrought. Though she realized that she had fired a spell, she had not truly expected it to work, and she was far from making the connection between the spell she'd fired and the cries of pain she heard like echoes from a childhood that now seemed almost to belong to someone else.

Reality struck a swift and deadly blow. Where there had been a hazy fog of unease, now there was gut-wrenching horror.

"Aunt Flora?" Choked. Not even a whisper.

But by now the shrieking had died down into helpless whimpering. Aunt Flora lay upon the ground, still on fire, but already so horribly burnt that there was little more for the flames to feed off of. With shaking hands, Rose fired every countercurse and healing spell she could think of, but of course, none of them did any good. She suddenly remembered that, though she'd seen Maleficent use the spell, she had copied it primarily from Zenovia. It must be one of her own spells. Of course a fairy who knew so much about healing could invent a spell which wouldn't allow for it.

The flames died out abruptly and completely, and they left only bones in their wake, but Briar Rose knew what she had seen and she knew what she had heard. The fairy she had heard approaching—the fairy who had called out—monosyllabic, surprised, accusatory—had called out  _Rose_.

Rose had just...

No! No, no, no, it wasn't possible! She wouldn't think it! Couldn't think it! It wasn't possible, it wasn't, and she wouldn't believe it. She refused.

Rose wasn't capable. She couldn't kill anybody. She'd never kill anybody. She'd been in a war for how long now? Who knew? Days or weeks or months; she couldn't say anymore. And not once had she killed anyone. Even when they'd challenged her in battle, she'd thrown them off somewhere for someone else to deal with. She was a healer. It was her job to heal, not to kill.

She was a good person! She never meant any harm to anybody. The only reason she'd learned any of this magic in the first place was to defend herself! She only wanted to be free, and to help the friends who had aided her in that quest. She never even really meant to hurt anybody at all, let alone to...and all those fairies who ran away! They were just running for their lives! How could Rose kill any of those poor fairies when all anybody in this war wanted was to live through it?

And she hadn't killed Phillip! She had thought about it—really, truly considered it! But she couldn't do it! Because she was incapable of killing even someone who had so wronged her—even someone she resented and loathed and wished never to see again! Because Rose had been horrified at the prospect of Maleficent's death even when they were strangers, because she could not think of any circumstances in which a person deserved to die! Rose could not kill anybody!

How could Rose kill anybody when she knew how desperately she didn't want to die? Even for all the countless moments she'd thought would be her last, Rose still held onto the infinitesimal chance of survival. She held onto the faint glimmer of hope that somewhere in this mess, there was a future for her that did not include an early grave or a life in chains.

_It is possible that there are worse fates than death, but to die is never to know what could have been._

Maleficent's words, from what seemed like another lifetime. Rose had been reminded of them when she had tried to explain to Maleficent why she had nearly ended her own life.

So perhaps she was capable of ending a life. But only her own. And only when it was no longer worth living. How could she end the life of another? She couldn't! Impossible! Not when she could so clearly recall the way Maleficent had looked then—she'd looked like she ought to have died, but she hadn't. And where was Maleficent now? Dead? No. No, no, no, surely not. She wouldn't die. She had survived then. She had survived Mistress Sara's torture. Mistress Sara meant certain death, but Maleficent had survived. And if Rose had survived whatever-this-was, then Maleficent must be just fine. Perhaps she wasn't even in pain.

Gone. Dead. To die is never to know what—

No.

Impossible.

Rose knelt down and, with the tips of her fingers, touched one of the bones that still lay in the shape of a perfectly formed skeleton. It was hot and dry. And clean. Perfectly clean and dry.

"Oh, god."

Rose wrapped her arms about herself and sank back into the grass. "Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god," she murmured to herself as the crushing realization sank into her heart and her skin and her soul.

She had killed someone.

She was capable of killing someone.

And she had done it.

And it wasn't someone she hated! It wasn't even someone she didn't know—some faceless soldier who had the misfortune of being on the opposite side of this hideous war in which Rose had entangled herself.

For all of her anger, all of her resentment, all of her sorrow, and for all she had been subjected to and subjected herself to as a consequence of these things, Rose had never stopped loving her aunts. For all of their lies and fumblings and misunderstandings, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had raised Briar Rose as their own. They had been her only family, and for all of the ways they had failed her in the recent past, they had spent the first sixteen years of her life loving her fiercely.

And of course they had not simply done this for sixteen years and then stopped! Matters had merely become more complicated after that. The love between Rose and the fairies who were her family had become less obvious, less palpable, but never, never less real!

"Oh, god!" Rose shrieked into the sky and collapsed onto her hands and knees before the pile of hot, dry, perfectly clean bones she had created with her own hands.

Rose had killed someone she loved.

Rose had—

_No!_

"No! No, no, no, no, no..."

Again, the sound of quiet footfalls sent Rose's body into a frenzy. Shocked out of her grief, Rose's only thought was to run, and to run as fast and as far away from those tiny little feet as she could. Rose was dangerous. Rose was a monster. She was not to be trusted. And where there had been one of her aunts, there must soon follow one or both of the others. And Rose—

Rose ran with everything she had. She ignored her screaming muscles and her pounding heart and her bleary eyes and she put as much distance between herself and whoever would come after Aunt Flora as possible before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Nausea settled into her stomach with a strange sense of familiarity. So often had it rested there of late that it seemed almost more usual that Rose should be sick to her stomach than not.

There was nothing more Rose could do. For an hour or more, she wept loudly and openly, and she heard only the sound of her own strangled cries echoing back to her amid eerie stillness. What good would it do to hold in her tears? Even if she lay here in suffocating silence, the mere sound of her haggard breathing would alert any passer-by to her presence, and she was physically unable to run anymore. She imagined she'd have a rather difficult time even of walking, or of sitting upright.

Once she'd grown weary even of crying, Rose opened her eyes and blinked until her vision cleared. She was startled to attention only by a twinge of recognition. She wasn't certain precisely what it was—something about the landscape. The way the dry grass slowly faded into rock, and the way the rock began to slope higher and higher as it turned into mountain...

Rose did not possess any innate sensibility about where she was in the world at any given moment, as the fairies she encountered seemed to, and she had never bothered to ask her traveling companions where they were at any given moment, as the information had mattered little to her. Aside from that, she had no way of knowing where she had been before whatever-it-was had thrown her who knew how far away.

But that she should have landed somewhere so painfully familiar came as a great surprise to her.

With considerable effort, Rose pushed herself up into a sitting position, so that she could better affirm whether her suspicion was correct. Sure enough, every rock, every tree, every subtle curve of the landscape was exactly as she remembered it from the brief time she had spent here what felt like ages ago. In a way, she had been another person entirely when she had come here, and another person still when she had fled.

Curious that she should think such a thing now, when her goal in the beginning had been to avoid becoming a person she hardly recognized.

The Dragon Country remained as bizarrely, unsettlingly silent as it had been before. Rose was acutely aware of her every haggard breath as she struggled to stand and, failing that, set about crawling towards Maleficent's family home. At the sight of it, a rush of adrenaline or fear or fury enabled her to stand on shaking legs, and she scrambled with wild abandon to get inside.

What did she expect to find? Maleficent? It wasn't impossible, she told herself as she closed the giant front door behind her and began frantically searching the ballroom for any sign of life. If Maleficent had used her home to hide from Mistress Sara before, it was likely still a safe place to be now. Images of all of the fallen fairies Rose had aided flooded her mind, punctuated by images of Maleficent, who never fell even once. How had she sustained such damage? Suppose the whatever-it-was, that had caused Rose to feel that she would die, had been more than Maleficent's body could take?

No. No. Rose couldn't think of it. Maleficent had to survive. She had to! Rose couldn't bear to lose another—

At the base of the stairs, Rose collapsed to her knees as a fresh wave of tears overcame her. She grasped onto the banister in a vain attempt to keep herself upright and wept with a voice so hoarse it scarcely even made a sound.

Rose had not lost someone she loved. She had no right to grieve, for she had not _lost_.

She had  _destroyed_.

Maleficent. There were so many things that Rose and Maleficent did not understand about one another, and yet perhaps Maleficent could understand this. And perhaps if she could not find Maleficent, then perhaps Kinsale or Zenovia might understand, instead. Rose needed to find someone—anyone—who understood. But then...

Would they look upon her with derision? Hypocrite! Foolish human girl who stuck up her nose at the nasty business of murder—only wanted to use magic to help, not to harm, oh, never to harm.

Idiot!

Rose had been right all along. Magic. She never should have touched the stuff. Perhaps it was possible for magic to do good, but not in the hands of Briar Rose. No. Perhaps on the surface she wished no ill, but inside—oh, in the very deepest part of her soul, Rose was a slave to the anger she had never been permitted to express! Give her a little taste of freedom and she showed her true colours almost immediately!

Monster!

_'Perhaps I've changed. Perhaps I'm not the same girl who values life so highly.' Rose's words. Petulant. Inviting an argument._

_'Perhaps.' Maleficent's concurrence. Concern furrowed her brow._

_'Are you going to hate me for it, too? For changing?' Unendurable._

_But Maleficent's black eyes shone with the truthfulness of her reply. 'Of course not.'_

Rose had to find Maleficent. Perhaps these words still rang true. Perhaps Maleficent would not look upon Rose with the loathing she felt in her own heart.

Rose all but dragged herself up the stairs. She relied heavily upon the banister for support and her heart skipped a beat every time the old stone crumbled beneath her feet or hands. She nearly laughed at herself, but the only sound that emerged was a derisive huff of air. What had Rose to fear? An uninteresting death, tumbling down some old stairs? Stupid girl.

The door to Maleficent's childhood bedroom was closed. Rose's heart leapt and she staggered over to it, feeling quite suddenly and unnervingly close to euphoria. "Maleficent?" she called out, though her voice would emit nothing above a raspy whisper. Maleficent was here! Who else would it be? She was here, and everything was going to be all right!

"Maleficent!" Rose threw open the door. She was too overcome with joy to feel any of the usual trepidation, or even to think of knocking. So great was her happiness that the sight that greeted her on the other side of the door completely knocked the breath from her lungs. She gripped the doorframe with both hands and stared in abject horror.

A middle-aged woman with the same golden blonde hair that adorned Rose's head sat cross-legged in a dirty, ragged gown. Her gaze was fixed upon the floor in front of her and her wrists were fastened by the shackles Rose had tried not to notice there during the course of her last visit to this place.

The Queen raised her dark blue eyes to meet Rose's, and a sad smile crossed her lovely features. "I hoped you might find me."


	24. The Betrayal

For several minutes, Rose hadn't even enough breath in her lungs to think of speaking. She gasped for air, almost hyperventilated, and squeezed her eyes closed in the vain hope that the nightmare she saw before her eyes was just that—a nightmare. Not real.

Perhaps she had died. Perhaps she had died and the Queen wasn't in chains because of her and Aunt Flora was still alive and the only person who had died was Briar Rose.

Aunt Flora...

Rose swallowed hard and opened her eyes, but nothing had changed. Queen Leah still watched her patiently, waited for—what? What could Rose possibly say?

She remained utterly at a loss, and so struggled for something concrete to hold onto. Something small. Inconsequential. Uncomplicated. But did there even exist such a thing between them?

 _Why are you here?_  she wanted to begin, but even that could spell disaster. Surely Queen Leah was anywhere either because of Rose or because of the war that now directly involved Rose, and Rose didn't want to know which it was just yet. She couldn't bear it.

Why she was in this specific place, in this specific room, was something Rose could guess by herself. If Rose knew anything about Maleficent—which admittedly remained debatable—she knew that Maleficent would not simply allow any old person to use her childhood bedroom as a makeshift prison cell.

"Maleficent brought you here," she said aloud, long before she'd made the decision to say anything at all, and even this brief sentence left her gasping for air once more.

The Queen nodded. Even though Rose had known her guess was accurate, her stomach sank all the same. Maleficent had brought her here. The Queen. Rose's mother. Or Aurora's, anyway.

Had it been only a moment ago that Rose had been desperate to find Maleficent? Only a moment ago that she'd believed Maleficent would be the only person in this world who could understand her, who could still accept her?

Foolish girl! Doing as she always did. Weeping over...

Was Maleficent her enemy? Rose's mind shouted a vehement  _no!_  in response, and yet...

"Rose."

Rose's heart, already so hopelessly overwrought, wrenched painfully, and her knees buckled beneath her. She leaned upon the doorframe even more heavily than before in a losing struggle to remain upright, and she cast wide, searching eyes upon the Queen who was her mother.

"You called me Rose?" Choked, high-pitched, scarcely above a whisper.

"Mistress Fauna helped me to realize something," said the Queen. She was very beautiful, even though her smile was full of melancholy. "Whoever you are to me...doesn't change who you are to yourself."

Something about this moment between them became too much for Rose to bear, and the anguish that wracked her body began to give way to blissful numbness. She looked down and straightened her posture, though she did not quite trust her legs to hold her without support. "I'm glad you're all right," she said quietly.

"Me?" An airy, mirthless little chuckle. "I'm glad you're all right. When I heard you were fighting..."

When she heard...what on earth had Maleficent told her? "I've been well-trained," said Rose, when the Queen said no more. "And very lucky."

"Whatever made you think you belonged on a battlefield?" the Queen asked her.

Rose's stomach twisted, and she welcomed the surge of anger that empowered her to meet the Queen's eyes despite her distress. Where did the Queen think Rose belonged, instead? Locked up in a castle? Too weak to leave her bed or even raise her voice to the husband she loathed for as long as she could bear to live?

"If I die in battle, at least I'll have lived on my own terms," she replied coldly.

The Queen's brow furrowed. "Fighting for wicked fairies? Those are your terms?"

"Fighting for life!" Rose shot back. She didn't know. How could she? How could she know what it was to watch thousands of fairies running for their lives, only to—? "Fighting to see another day...another... There is so much...so much darkness in this world! So much pain, sadness, hatred." And now Rose was a part of it! Today she had not helped or healed—she had  _destroyed_. But even that was not a fraction of her despair! "Sometimes I think that I am miserable," she tried to explain, "but when I see the misery of my friends, it is—oh, it is more than I can bear!"

"Your friends?" the Queen echoed, disbelieving.

Rose wanted to fight back, but the words caught in her throat and she hesitated. Were they her friends? Had they ever been? Rose looked down again. "You wouldn't judge them so harshly if you knew a few of them," she said, followed by a shuddering sigh.

The Queen frowned. "Perhaps not," she said. "But...but Rose, it isn't your job to...to save them. You know that?"

"Save them?" Rose frowned. The word was almost foreign to her. She understood its meaning, yet it made no sense to her. Save them. She couldn't save anybody. She could barely even keep anybody alive.

"Perhaps they...perhaps  _she_  has had a troubled life."

At this surprising reference to Maleficent, Rose looked up with fire in her eyes, seized by a sudden rush of protectiveness. The Queen didn't know the half of it!

The Queen's eyes glittered with a kind of frenzy, but she continued. "But...but it isn't your obligation to help her."

Rose lifted her chin defiantly. "If it weren't for her, I wouldn't even exist," she responded, her words clipped. "Aurora wouldn't exist and Rose wouldn't exist. I would be nothing."

The Queen's eyes widened in understanding, and she looked down. Rose was so confident that she had won that she squared her shoulders and let go of the doorframe, but then the Queen spoke again.

"That isn't true," she said. "You would still be my fondest wish."

And with these simple words, Rose sank slowly to her knees, weighed down by the heaviness in her heart that only longed for someone to care for her.

The Queen looked up. "No matter what happened, Rose, you do exist. And you deserve the chance to live your life. You don't owe her anything."

Rose tried to frown, but the muscles of her face were contorted in the beginnings of a sob. "I owe her my freedom," she tried to argue, but her voice wavered mercilessly.

"We were only doing what we thought was best for you..." The Queen shook her head miserably. "You have to believe me."

Rose tried to remain strong and defiant, but her resolve had long since been broken. She bit her lip in an attempt to subdue the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "I do," she said. "But...but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to remember."

"I know it doesn't," the Queen agreed vehemently. "And I know it's not...I...I never believed you would break Philip's bones...you couldn't."

"You're wrong," said Rose, and again she was seized by that burning sensation that she felt would drive her to ruin. "I could. I  _did_! I broke his wrist. I—" she choked on the tears she'd tried so valiantly to hold in. "I broke his wrist for no reason at all. I wanted revenge. I was angry and I wanted to hurt him. So I did." And that wasn't even the worst of it anymore!

"Rose..."

"It's not because of her, so don't you dare suggest it!"

"You must consider that without her influence..."

"Without her influence!" Rose half-shrieked and shook her head in frustration. "Without her influence, I would...I would..." She'd never have killed anyone...she'd never have put a name to her anger...she'd never have left the castle, her Destiny to be the Princess Aurora...she'd have gone utterly mad—that much was certain. How long would it have taken her  _without Maleficent's influence_  to determine that her life—the life that had been fashioned for her—was no longer worth living?

"I wouldn't merely be dead, I..." Rose swallowed hard in an attempt to regain control of herself. "I'd never have lived at all. I wouldn't know what living was without her. I would... This...this  _anger_  I feel..." and again the word caught in her throat like a forbidden epithet. "It would have consumed me. It would have killed me inside. I know I..." she swallowed again and looked away. "I know I'm not much. I know I'm not what you wanted, not at all...but without Maleficent, I would be nothing."

The Queen was silent for a long time before she spoke again. Rose couldn't look at her, but her voice was heavy with unshed tears. "Rose...you gave her her freedom and she gave you yours. You're even."

"Even," Rose echoed quietly.

She thought of all the things the Queen didn't know. She thought of her training, their early conversations as compared to their recent ones. She thought of the fighting, the insults, the cruel words each of them had spoken...she thought of all the things they'd tried to teach one another, the things they'd tried to understand about one another, and how horribly unsuccessful they'd often been. She thought of the night the first battle had begun, the moment just prior when they'd hovered not a breath apart, the air between them heavy with words that would likely remain forever unspoken.

Even.

If she owed Maleficent nothing and Maleficent owed her nothing, then what was to stop them from becoming what they ought to have been in the first place? Had all this time...how long had it been now?...had it all been nothing more than a momentary ceasefire in a battle that would go on long after Rose had died? Had this bizarre and impossibly painful series of events that Rose would never be able to erase from her mind been but a drop in the ocean of Maleficent's existence? Did Rose now return from her honoured station of undesirable but necessary ally to irritating but insignificant enemy?

"I suppose we are," she said at last. The admission felt like a heavy weight upon her chest, and she began gradually to collapse into herself. Even.

"Come home with me, Rose," said the Queen, so quietly and tentatively that the words took a moment to register in Rose's overloaded mind. "On your own terms. I shall see to it."

Rose almost laughed. Impossible. Her visions of the Queen's home—the castle of the Eastern Kingdom—were but two disparate prisons. The first was a gilded cage, the second a fate worse than death. How could she expect a third journey home to offer any improvement upon these circumstances? Anyway, how could she simply abandon—

Her friends. Friends who had chained up her own mother in the name of war, just as her own mother had allowed Rose to be Chained in the name of some imagined Greater Good.

Had Briar Rose even a single friend in this world?

On her own terms. In her mind, it seemed clear that to fight amongst the wicked fairies who had trained her was the only way to have her own terms, and yet what terms were these? Rose never meant to harm anyone, and here she had killed—

Rose looked up to meet the Queen's eyes once more. It physically pained her to see that same troubled, tortured caring shining so clearly upon her face. How would her mother look at her if she  _knew?_ Would she still be so eager to negotiate Rose's terms?

"I can't," Rose shook her head. "I can't return. It's too late for me."

The Queen was silent for a moment, and the heaviness that weighed upon Rose's chest seemed to intensify. The silence seemed like a damning agreement. But then— "All the things I've learned, all the things I believe..." the Queen began slowly. "So many of them seem so uncertain now. Yet there is one lesson from my life that seems to prove true time and time again."

Rose looked up with genuine interest, and perhaps the faintest flicker of hope.

The Queen met her eyes, and there was something in her expression that Rose had never seen there before: the warm glow of certainty. "It is never too late."

For one wild moment, Rose wanted to believe her. Her heart leapt, and the corners of her mouth quirked up into a tiny, crooked approximation of a smile _. It is never too late_. Perhaps she could return. Perhaps she could return, now that she was powerful. Now that she had the means to—

No.

To what?

To destroy anyone who would oppose her?

Rose's heart sank and her stomach churned. "You're wrong," she said. "It is. It is too late. If you knew—" Her voice caught in her throat, so violently that she choked and coughed and clutched her chest. "Oh, if you knew!" she wailed. "You would never forgive me! You would loathe me! You couldn't bear even to set eyes upon me!"

"None of this was your fault, Rose—"

"Fault!" Rose half-screeched, and again that dreadful, boiling anger overcame her, momentarily clearing her head of murky sorrow. "What does fault matter? What does fault matter by your—your—twisted, awful definition? What does..."

The echo of Rose's shrieks reached her ears, and she paused long enough to take a deep, shuddering breath. Perhaps she did belong in chains, madwoman that she had become. "You say fault and I know what you mean," she continued, eyes closed, voice reduced to a raspy whisper. "You mean it had nothing to do with me. I didn't make my own decisions. I was manipulated. That's what you mean. But I wasn't—not always, anyway. I was given my options and I chose the ones that seemed somehow better. That I sometimes chose wrong, that I have harmed and..." but no. She could not say the word aloud. Not just yet. That would make it real. Irrevocable. "...these were my actions alone, and I alone am accountable for them."

The silence that followed felt thick and heavy. Rose stared at her hands—the hands of a healer and of a murderer—and again, she found that she had become mercifully numb to emotion. It was simply too much to bear all at once.

"What will you do, instead, Rose?" the Queen asked her quietly. "Do you truly feel you must see the decisions you've made through to the bitter end, when it's clear you don't believe in them?"

What did she intend to do? Where did she go from here?

Did she wait here in Maleficent's home? Sit idly by as her own mother, who had done nothing wrong, was kept prisoner, and wait to see whether Maleficent offered any reasonable explanation? Maleficent owed Rose no explanation. She owed Rose nothing, and Rose owed her nothing.

They were even.

Did Rose instead go in search of the other members of her party? Of Zenovia or Kinsale? Though at first glance, this seemed the more desirable option, Rose quickly realized that there could be no middle ground for her any longer. If she made the decision now that she did not trust Maleficent, she must also rescind trust from Zenovia and Kinsale. They had only agreed to ally themselves with Rose because of Maleficent.

Rose remembered with a vague sinking feeling in her stomach the way she had almost feared Kinsale, back when she'd felt she had time for such wariness. She'd realized that just as quickly as Kinsale had accepted her presence, she would have accepted her absence and rejoiced in Maleficent's victory.

And perhaps Maleficent no longer wished Rose harm. But could Rose continue to side with Maleficent when she wished harm on other people Rose loved? No matter how deeply Rose cared for Maleficent, how badly she wanted to believe that Maleficent was in possession of a good, if troubled, heart, could Rose actively aid her in her crusade against the people Rose had once called her family?

If Rose awaited Maleficent's return, that indicated that she accepted not only her mother's imprisonment, but what she, herself, had done. Her acceptance indicated that she saw these things as mere collateral damage, the understandable side effects of involvement with a war. And if she chose to remain and to accept these things, this indicated that she must continue along the path she had chosen, wherever it led, no matter whether her feelings had changed in the meantime.

But then, if she left...

If she found a way to free the Queen and returned to the Eastern Kingdom, then Maleficent would return, and if she did not know immediately what had transpired, she would uncover the answer as terrifyingly quickly as she learned everything. She would know that Rose had changed her mind without speaking to her, even after Maleficent had offered her a way out. She wouldn't know about Aunt Flora or the way the Queen had called her Rose, or about how troubled even Kinsale had been by Rose's expression of affection, or about any of the other thousand things that had plagued Rose since the war began. She would view it as a betrayal.

It would be a betrayal.

"If I left, she'd know what happened," Rose said quietly, still in the direction of her treacherous hands.

"And you're afraid?"

Rose frowned. "No, not...she'd know I betrayed her." Should she be afraid? She didn't think so. She felt she ought to be offended by the implication, but she remained strangely noncommittal.

"You just agreed with me," said the Queen, and a part of Rose loathed the way her voice suddenly held such hope. "You don't owe her anything any longer."

"But I..." Rose wrapped her arms around herself and sank back onto the floor with a heavy sigh. "I can't help it," she said miserably. "After all this time, I can't help but care for her."

And was she wrong to care? With everything going on around them, the world about to be torn asunder with each passing day, there was no way of knowing anymore!

"I know you can't, dear," said the Queen, "but you must learn how harmful it is to care for people who can't care for you."

"But that's just it...she does!" Rose cried vehemently. The words surprised her, as did the sudden surge of fervour that accompanied them. She'd gone in an instant from feeling utterly dejected to feeling full of fire. And she was so uncertain—uncertain of everything!—that she had no way of knowing whether the fire would fuel her or consume her!

"I know she does," Rose insisted. She nodded her head slowly as she tried to put into words the things she'd barely even been able to conceptualize in the confines of her own mind. "She doesn't show it the way most people do. I don't think she'd know how if she tried. But she does care. She does!"

The Queen shook her head, "Could you live with that? Could you live with that troubled, unknowing care for however long it might last, only to be cast aside? Cast aside if for no other reason than that she doesn't want to care?"

 _Doesn't want to care_.

Just as quickly as Rose had been set ablaze, her fire was extinguished, and she felt even more hollow than before. She felt the heat drain from her face and a lump began to form in her throat.

What did it matter, if Maleficent simply didn't want to care for Rose? What did it matter, if Rose spent whatever remained of her days pushing and fighting and waiting for some sort of breakthrough that would never, could never come if Maleficent simply did not wish it?

Rose ought to save herself now, before it was well and truly too late.

The thought caused Rose's throat to constrict and her eyes to sting, but she felt she must have run dry of tears. What a world was this, wherein she must return to her former prison to find respite!

Rose's mind, fatigued and befuddled though it was, fought against her. It reminded her of the kind things Maleficent had done. It reminded her of those brief, fleeting moments of something like happiness that Rose had only experienced in Maleficent's company. But oh, how quickly those moments had dissolved back into the swirling chaos she knew best!

She looked up at her mother whom she hesitated to think of as her mother, a queen chained to a wall in a dingy old fortress. She tried to envision Maleficent capturing this woman—not so very different from Rose—and chaining her, taunting her, telling her her daughter wouldn't be able to free her even if she wanted to. Maleficent had taught Rose nearly everything she knew, after all. Maleficent could withhold whatever information she saw fit with no consequence, because what could Rose do but agree and hope that her agreement wouldn't be her downfall?

It suddenly occurred to her that the way her mother looked at her must be the way she looked at Maleficent. Wanting to reach out, wanting to help, wanting to show she cared, but with no idea how...and receiving nothing but animosity in return. Rose sighed and covered her face with her hands.

How far had her mother traveled to end up here? How much trouble had she gone to, just to show Rose that she cared? That she  _wanted_  to care?

"It doesn't have to be that way, Rose," said the Queen after a long silence. "Your aunts love you dearly. And certainly they don't always know what you need, but they only want what's best for you. Your father loves you. I know you may think he hardly knows you, but, given the chance, he will love you more and more as he learns all about who you are. And I..." she looked down and swallowed hard. "Do you remember when you awoke from the Sleeping Curse? When you came down the stairs with Philip and I laid eyes on you for the first time since you were a baby?"

Rose did not respond. She uncovered her face, but the Queen wasn't looking at her. She wasn't expecting a response, and Rose had none to give.

"I hoped perhaps you might understand what I felt, in a way," said the Queen. "When I looked at you, I knew immediately who you were, not because of the features we share but because I  _knew_. When you appeared, it was as though a piece of my heart had been returned to me."

She looked up, and there were tears shining in her eyes. They were the same violet blue eyes Rose saw in the mirror. "And I thought perhaps you understood, because you embraced me, as though you knew. As though you felt it."

Rose swallowed. "I...I... I don't know what I felt," she stammered. She felt herself trembling. "I hardly remember that day. I felt frightened. Alone. I...I saw your face and I knew you were my mother and I...I thought mothers were supposed to protect their children, so I went to you."

"Mothers are people just like everyone else, Rose," said the Queen sadly. "They make mistakes. Can you possibly try to forgive me mine? Let me protect you the way I ought to?"

Rose clenched her fists, and even as tears streamed down her cheeks, her lip curled into a sneer. "Protect me. How? By chaining me? Keeping me as a prisoner?"

"Of course not—"

"I warn you," she said, scrambling to her feet, "I can fight. And I will."

"Aurora—"

"No!" Rose summoned her staff, and she swung it over her head, as though this were a duel and she had won. "You think I am so desperate for your affection that I will be fooled like this?"

"Rose! Rose, listen to me!"

"I am not a fool!" Rose snarled, aiming her staff at the Queen's throat. "And I am not a child!"

"Rose, all I want to do is—"

"I will not be treated as anything less than what I am!"

"Rose!" the Queen cried. "I am not your enemy!"

These words hit Rose like a blow to the stomach. They knocked the wind from her lungs, and her shoulders slumped. Her knuckles whitened around the base of her staff and she lowered it to the floor so that she could lean on it for support.

"Look at yourself!" the Queen continued, her voice tremulous with the tears she shed. "What you are now is a madwoman! So starved for affection that you can't believe anyone could truly care for you! So...so jaded by the wicked ones you call your allies that you think your own mother would try to harm you!"

Rose sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. She tried to catch her breath, but each time she inhaled, the air was knocked out of her once more in a wracking sob. She was so tired. She couldn't go on like this!

A few moments passed in silence, broken only by Rose's ragged breathing. Now, in the aftermath of her rage, Rose's decision seemed clear: she could not continue along the path she had chosen.

"If I were to return with you," Rose began, slowly, careful not to let her voice waver, "I would do so as a sorceress. Not a princess."

She would not be kept prisoner. Not by Chains, and not by Phillip. She would not allow the chaos she felt encompassing her to frighten her into submission.

"Whatever you wish, Rose," the Queen agreed eagerly.

"I won't return to Phillip. I'll come and go as I please."

"Of course, Rose! Of course!"

Rose stood slowly on shaky legs. She leaned heavily upon the wall for support, and she avoided looking at the Queen's hopeful, tear-filled eyes.

She knew many binding spells, but Maleficent knew infinitely more. She did not even bother with the common ones, but began with only the most unusual, until one—one she had learned from a lost battle with Zenovia—caused the shackles on the wall of Maleficent's bedroom to give way.

The Queen made a strange noise, a kind of shuddering sigh with a sprinkle of nervous laughter. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose could see the Queen gazing at her freed wrists in unbridled wonder and joy. Rose turned to face the wall and looked at her own wrists. The right one still bore a scar, just as red and vicious as it had been the day she'd inflicted it upon herself. She'd never been able to heal it.

 _Much of magic hinges upon intent, you know_ , Maleficent's voice echoed in Rose's mind. Rose shuddered and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

Must this truly be her choice? Must she truly turn her back upon Maleficent to ensure her own sanity?

A light touch upon Rose's shoulder caused her to spin around with another binding spell upon her lips which knocked the Queen back onto her knees. A thousand different faces flashed before Rose's eyes and she could feel her head spinning. She blinked once, twice, and again, and suddenly the world came crashing back into focus.

Again, Rose held her staff at her mother's throat, and again she heard her heart thundering in her ears and struggled to steady her breathing and regain control of her racing thoughts.

The Queen gazed up at her with wide, frightened eyes, and Rose saw in her mother a strange reflection of herself...or rather, a person she'd almost been in what seemed like another lifetime. Rose swallowed audibly, and with painstaking slowness, she lowered her staff. "Please," she breathed. "Don't startle me."

She broke the binding spell and offered the Queen her hand. "I'm sorry," she said.

The Queen stared back at her with a kind of terror Rose had never seen. Rose frowned and felt her heart wrench uncomfortably in her chest. Others had looked upon her similarly before, but the fear that had shone in their eyes had really been meant for someone else. The good fairies and the royal counselors who had Chained Rose had been wary of her because they believed her to be brainwashed, not acting of her own volition...but never a true threat in and of herself.

This trepidation in the Queen's eyes was the direct result of Rose's actions. The Queen genuinely feared Rose, and she had genuine reason to do so.

How many times had Maleficent felt this way?

Rose pushed this thought from the forefront of her mind. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I'm sorry... You must understand...what my circumstances have been..."

The Queen shook her head and blinked away the terror in her eyes. "Of course. Of course. I'm sorry," she said, and took Rose's hand to help herself to her feet. "On your own terms," she added. "You're returning on your own terms."

It hardly even made sense. It was like reassurance for a rabid animal. But Rose nodded nonetheless. She turned away from the Queen and her troubled expression to gaze upon the shackles affixed to Maleficent's childhood bedroom wall.

 _Even_.

So this was the way it ended. She had freed Maleficent from the Eastern Kingdom, and now she freed the Queen from Maleficent. She'd sought a new life for herself with Maleficent's assistance, and now she must return to the life she never wanted, all in a vain, floundering attempt to have any life for herself at all.

She'd left the only home she had ever known weak and confused, and she returned more or less the same way, endowed only with a power which ensured her personal freedom at a terrible price. Perhaps she would no longer be so easily taken prisoner by anyone else, but Rose was now a prisoner of her own mind. How could she ever escape from herself?

She'd begun wanting so badly to save the enigma that was Maleficent from death, so vehement that she would never wish harm even upon her own would-be murderer, and oh! the destruction she had wrought since then!

Rose turned her attention away from those dreadful shackles that reminded her of the past she shouldn't rightly be privy to. She took the Queen's hands and pushed her thoughts aside long enough to concentrate upon the only transportation spell she had ever learned. Once she had used it because Maleficent had frightened her. Now she meant to escape because she frightened herself.

The forest that surrounded the Eastern Kingdom was nearly too much to bear. Rose squeezed her eyes closed and turned away from the Queen for a moment to collect herself.

Briar Rose would return to the Kingdom of the East on her own terms, but she could scarcely say what those were anymore. She would be regarded as a sorceress. She would not return to Phillip. She would come and go as she pleased.

"Rose?"

Rose turned to look at the Queen slowly. "Yes?"

The Queen smiled warmly at her, but Rose could still see that tiny flicker of wariness in her eyes. "Shall we go home now? It's nearly sunset."

Rose turned her attention to the sky above trees. The clouds were thick and colourful and the air held the pleasant coolness of a spring evening. "So it is."

They walked towards the village in uneasy silence. Rose's thoughts continued to race, and she was far too preoccupied by them to wonder very much what was on the Queen's mind.

Perhaps it hadn't been too late to change her mind before, but this decision was final. Rose had betrayed Maleficent. She didn't know exactly how Maleficent would react, but whatever trust Maleficent might have placed in her would be no more. There was no return.

She wished she could explain. She wished she could tell Maleficent that she had killed and that she couldn't kill, that she needed a kind of love Maleficent didn't understand and didn't even want to understand, that she had been wrong about so many things and that she couldn't allow her wrongness to harm anyone else she loved.

Perhaps when the war had ended, she could write Maleficent a letter.

Provided...

But no. Rose would not think of it. Now she must think of herself and the choice she had made.

"Your father will be so delighted to see you, Rose," said the Queen. "He and his men went on an expedition to find you, but they're meant to return in the next few days, and oh, won't they be so pleased that you've returned! We'll throw a glorious ball, and all the Three Kingdoms will—"

"No!" Rose cried in alarm. "I'll see the King, but no one else. No big celebrations, please."

"But, Auro—Rose, you've been gone for so long, and everyone feared—"

Rose stopped walking. "What everyone feared before is nothing compared to the sight of me now!" The Queen opened her mouth to protest, but Rose cut her off. "You know it's true! I see it! I see it in your eyes!"

The Queen closed her mouth and bowed her head. The Queen of the Eastern Kingdom bowed her head to Rose, as though in a show of deference. Rose was reminded of those vague days before she'd freed Maleficent, when she'd felt the urge to bow to her parents, the King and Queen, and instead, everyone she encountered had bowed to her. Similarly, she'd often felt the urge to bow to Maleficent, and then to Zenovia.

And now the Queen bowed to her.

"Forgive me, Rose," said the Queen. "Your terms."

Rose frowned and nodded, and they continued their journey to the castle. Her terms. She would be regarded as a sorceress. She wouldn't return to Phillip. She would come and go as she pleased.

And woe betide anyone who dared challenge Briar Rose! For today, she had truly become a monster to be feared.

* * *

Maleficent tore through battlefield after battlefield like a destructive storm, and indeed, as she moved, the clouds and rain and thunder and lightning followed her. In passing, she thought of the fateful storm she'd witnessed in her youth, the storm she'd mistaken for one of natural causes, but one which was instead borne of her mother's breaking point.

Was this storm to be Maleficent's undoing? Some nonsensical raving from a feeble-minded human woman who hadn't even the good grace to attempt to keep her word in a simple bargain? Some wicked fairy she was. Some Mistress of Chaos and Evil Forces, to be flung to the edge of reason by the idiotic suggestion that someone could love her.

Love!  _Ha!_

Maleficent threw back her head and let out a great screech of frustration. The earth and the sky trembled and rumbled about her and armies for miles around felt the impact of her cry beneath their heavy boots.

It was one thing for Maleficent to care for Briar Rose. Briar Rose cared for Maleficent, for she was simply too kind-hearted not to care for anyone, no matter how unequivocally dreadful. Zenovia and Kinsale cared for Maleficent, as well, each in her own wildly different way, but Rose's way was unlike anything Maleficent (or, she would wager, any wicked fairy) had ever experienced before. Zenovia and Kinsale, for all of their differences, understood the world in much the same way that Maleficent did. Rose did not, had no reason to, and indeed, had many reasons not to, and yet she still found a way to try, and to care. Of course this had touched her heart.

And it was one thing for Maleficent to lust after her. Sick, perhaps, and certainly masochistic, but somewhat inevitable. Even looking past the gifts of magical grace and beauty from her fairy guardians, Rose was uncommonly lovely, and made only more so by the genuine warmth and kindness that radiated from within. Much as Maleficent tried to insist to herself that Rose was too young, too naive, too untouchable to her in every way, and of course would have to be certifiably mad to reciprocate these musings, nothing would put an end to the feverish dreams and fleeting daytime thoughts which plagued Maleficent's imagination.

But love?

What was the nature of love, anyway? Maleficent wouldn't know, or so she'd repeatedly been told. Wicked fairies knew nothing of love. Shouldn't it be but a simple combination of these two things, care and lust? If it were, then there would have been at least a handful of wicked fairies who had experienced it. If it were, then Maleficent would have loved Kinsale a century ago, and she wouldn't have run away into the night when she failed to understand the change in the way Kinsale looked at her.

How could anyone love Maleficent? Someone could care for her, a handful had lusted after her, but how could anyone on this earth or any world besides associate that impossible swirling mass of nonsense magic called True Love with Maleficent?

_She loves you!_

"NO!"

Another earth-shaking blast emanated from Maleficent's entire being, and the earth and sky around her. She cried out in anguish and very nearly fell to her knees. Impossible! Unfathomable!

She would not stand for it!

Briar Rose was in a fragile emotional state, to say the least, and if Maleficent were being perfectly honest, had been since their first encounter. Maleficent had generally avoided overtly manipulating Rose's thoughts, but to believe that Rose's actions were the decisions of a sound mind would be negligent at best.

It was not impossible that, besieged by the unique combination of her youth and sheltered upbringing and the near-madness she had recently experienced, Briar Rose had somehow convinced herself that she loved Maleficent. Or, more precisely, what she'd made Maleficent out to represent to her—that freedom she so desperately and recklessly sought.

Not impossible. Probable. If Maleficent were being perfectly honest with herself, she had seen it. She'd warned Rose against it.  _I can't give you anything that you need_ , she'd warned her. And though Rose had fought her aloud, she'd rather hoped that verbal affirmation of this deficit would add itself to what must be an overflowing list of doubts Rose was choosing to ignore until she could do so no longer. And perhaps she hadn't truly believed that to be the end of that, but she'd believed it to be the end of the discussion. The rest would work itself out, she'd imagined. Rose was a fool to care for Maleficent.

Not Maleficent. Freedom. The freedom Maleficent represented to her.

Now Maleficent realized she must make abundantly clear to Rose that she the fairy and what she had somehow, by way of many and varied oversights, come to represent in Rose's mind, were very nearly independent of one another. Agreeing to aid Rose in her quest for freedom was one of the only things Maleficent had ever done in her lifetime which could in any way be classified as good or helpful, and she had absolutely no intention of making such actions a part of her usual routine. She had agreed to help Rose because...

 _You are you, and I am I...no matter how we've changed in the meantime_.

Maleficent scoffed aloud. Well. Unless Rose was truly a fool, she would surely change her mind when she discovered Queen Leah chained to Maleficent's bedroom wall. Maleficent's family home in the Dragon Country was one of few remaining safe havens available to her party, and the only one of which Rose was aware. Unless she was badly injured, captured, or otherwise incapacitated, she would likely come to the conclusion to try looking there.

In all honesty, Maleficent had no way of knowing precisely what Rose's reaction would be. She couldn't draw upon her experience with her own mother, of course, and Rose had only minimally even mentioned the Queen. It seemed she hardly viewed the Queen as her mother—understandably so, as she'd only met Leah a handful of times—and that their interactions had been strained at best.

At one time, Rose had been so ruled by her kind heart and compassion that she would lay down her own life even for Maleficent, who would just as soon have killed her as let her live. Nearly two years had passed since that fateful eve, however, and Rose had since decided that she would perhaps no longer spare absolutely everyone from harm. Even since then, the war had broken out full-force, and Maleficent had hardly spoken to Rose in the meantime.

Strangely, Maleficent found herself longing for that brief time when Rose's every thought was laid bare for her, when Rose had been all but an open book, and anything she didn't directly say was written all over her expressive features. She'd found it somewhat unsettling at the time. To be so directly privy to a person's thoughts seemed excessive, and lent credence to Maleficent's negative opinion of Rose's basic survival instinct. Maleficent knew very well the impression she made. Why would anyone offer her more information when she could so easily glean it for herself?

Though Rose had remained ostensibly guileless, the strain of wartime had rendered her most frequently quiet and troubled, in a vague and unreadable way. Once it had been clear to Maleficent that Rose had no plans for the direction her life would take; however, her recent silence had caused Maleficent to wonder whether that had changed. Of course she could not have anticipated the actual experience of the horror of war, despite the wicked fairies' warnings. Had the experience changed her perception in some way? Or merely served to further unhinge her?

More importantly, did it matter? What was any of it to Maleficent?  _I lived half a dozen of your lifetimes before I knew your name_ , she'd told Rose, and yet here she was raving like a lunatic, as though this...this  _child_  held some insurmountable power over her!

Nonsense! She would not have it! She would not be defeated by something so imbecilic, so insignificant, so utterly nonsensical as—!

"Maleficent! Shield yourself!"

But Maleficent's mind was, for once, woefully preoccupied. The magical explosion hit her full force long before she could even think to put up a shield. Her body was launched into the air in an arc which was almost graceful in its grotesqueness, and she fell to the ground lifeless.


	25. The Sorceress

Briar Rose's return to the Eastern Kingdom felt like a very strange dream. Perhaps the most peculiar thing about it was that Rose couldn't say whether it was a good dream or a bad dream. The only thing she felt with any degree of certainty was that it didn't seem  _real_  to her.

Time passed in a curious way. Rose felt simultaneously that the days seemed to drag on forever and that they flew by with a speed that was dizzying. The panic that had crept unnoticed into Rose's veins did not subside. She remained constantly on edge, prepared for battle. But with the good fairies preoccupied by war, the King and a large portion of his men off on a fruitless search for someone who'd already been found, Aunts Fauna and Merryweather who-knew-where, and Aunt Flora...

Well, for many weeks, no one really presented any challenge to Rose's newfound authority over herself.

"Rose?"

Rose's heartbeat lurched as it always did now, but she did her very best to remain perfectly still. She did not jump to respond, nor did she raise her head from the book she wasn't really reading. She focused her energy on the awkward consideration of what she ought to call the Queen.  _Mother_  seemed all wrong to her, but  _Your Majesty_  would hurt the Queen's feelings. At last, she settled upon a simple "Yes?"

"Would you like to come to dinner?"

 _No_ , was the immediate answer that came to mind, and also the answer she'd given everyone who'd come to ask for as long as she'd been here. Yet how long had it been since she'd sat at a table and had dinner? Tonight the idea seemed somehow lavish, despite the awkward company she'd likely have to endure.

"Who will be there?" she wondered.

The Queen hesitated. Rose noted how odd it was that someone should audibly gasp upon hesitation. Her previous company had scarcely ever hesitated, and when one of them had, it had been in stony silence.

"Only me."

Only...? Rose looked up at last to see what she'd already known was there: the Queen, hands clasped, eyes wrought with worry.

"Have you been dining alone all this time?" Rose asked aloud before she could think better of it.

The Queen averted her eyes.

"I'll come to dinner," Rose decided with a small nod, which was far more to herself than to the Queen. Honestly, she doubted she would make an even passable dinner companion. Countless matters swirled about senselessly in her mind, and though a part of her desperately needed to discuss them, she hadn't even the faintest idea of where to begin—let alone with the Queen as her partner in discussion.

Still, even the walk to the dining hall proved too long a silence for Rose, and she blurted out the first question that came to her mind. "Why did you send the King to the Mountainlands to search for me?"

She'd more or less gotten past dwelling on the way she'd been hunted like a wild animal. But all the stories and explanations she'd been given upon her arrival were brief, vague, and disjointed. King Stefan, Prince Philip, and a large search party had gone to the Mountainlands to search for Rose, while Queen Leah and Aunt Fauna had gone to the Western Woodlands. King Stefan hadn't been made aware of Fauna's plans.

Rose found it somewhat disconcerting that the Queen did not seem to understand the imminent danger into which she'd blindly sent both herself and her husband, but thus far, she'd said nothing on the subject. How could she explain?

The Queen hesitated for some time before she began to answer, but Rose was relieved that an actual answer, and not an admonishment for asking, was all that followed. "Mistress Fauna feared...well, not only that you wouldn't heed Stefan or Philip, but that their efforts might...drive you even further away from us."

Rose shook her head. "That I can understand. But the war of the fairies is..." the words caught in her throat and she swallowed uncomfortable. "They could be in terrible danger," she said after a moment's pause.

The Queen stopped walking and turned to look at her, eyes full of alarm. "But Mistress Fauna believed that the path she sent them on would lead them out of harm's way!" she insisted. "And at the time, the war hadn't even begun. She thought..."

"She thought they could  _avoid_  the war?" Rose cut her off. The notion was incredible to her. The war was everywhere! Inescapable!

The Queen flinched and her eyes flashed with pain. "Yes!" she cried.

They stood, staring at one another in tense silence for several minutes before the Queen finally backed down and continued on her path into the dining hall. As promised, there were but two places set at the far end of the table.

Sometime in the middle of the meal, when her rage began to cool, Rose realized that perhaps her idea of the war had been overly simplistic. The war was not here, after all. The war was not in the Dragon Country. Perhaps Fauna hadn't been so rash to send the King and his search party in the wrong direction. It had been in an attempt to reach out to Rose, and hadn't Rose longed for the chance to reconcile with her estranged aunts when death seemed imminent?

"Where is Aunt Fauna now?" Rose asked. She'd never dared to ask before, and no information was ever offered to her unless she asked.

The Queen stopped eating. It seemed Rose must be doomed to ask the least desirable questions this evening. Or more likely, no question was desirable. Rose remembered a time when she would have bowed her head in submission, apologized and muttered  _nevermind_.

"I...don't know," said the Queen at last.

Rose frowned as it became clear that the Queen wished this to be the end of the discussion. "But you traveled together." She tried very hard to ignore the dread she felt somewhere in the region of her stomach.  _Please, no_ , she thought.  _Not Aunt Fauna, too_.  _I can't bear to have lost_...

"It's safe to assume she's...joined the war, I suppose," said the Queen.

"Safe to assume?" Rose echoed. She felt panic rising inside of her and struggled to keep it contained. "You traveled together. How could you not know? Did something happen to her?"

"Calm down, Aurora, please!"

Rose stood from the table abruptly. Her chair fell to the ground and she held out her hand to summon her staff.

The Queen, too, scrambled to her feet, but she was all trembling and apologies. "Rose!" she cried. "Rose, Rose! Please! Please calm down!"

Rose's staff flew into her hand. The Queen continued to apologize and the servants gasped in horror and fear and rushed out of the room.

"What became of Fauna?" Rose demanded as she drew her staff across her chest.

"Rose!"

"What became of her!"

"I told you, I don't know!" the Queen shrieked. "We were set upon by a group of good fairies and she told me to run, so I ran! I don't know what became of her. I don't know!"

Tears began to stream down the Queen's face, and the sight of them slowly brought Rose back to her senses. She lowered her staff and took several long, deep breaths. "Aunt Fauna didn't do anything against the good fairies, did she?" she wondered, more to herself than to the Queen. "They couldn't have taken her prisoner if she didn't act against them..."

"Rose..." the Queen began, but her voice shook. A part of Rose still found it odd that she could cause a queen's voice to shake. "Why do you speak of the good fairies as though they are monsters, or tyrants?"

"Tyranny is all I've seen of them," Rose replied coldly. She didn't want to speak of fairies or wars or tyranny or betrayal...

"Your aunts are among them, after all."

"My aunts..." Rose's throat ran dry and she leaned heavily upon her staff. From her aunts, she had known nothing but love and joy all the days of her youth. But of course they had also practiced their own brand of tyranny. She felt at once that she could not bear to face them and that she desperately needed to see them as soon as possible.

"My aunts have also been misguided," she continued at last. "And surely they would side with their own kind in a war. I only wonder if Aunt Fauna acted against the good fairies because I worry for her safety. Not because I...not because I mean to condemn her."

And she never meant to condemn Aunt Flora, either. Sometimes intention mattered little.

The Queen was silent for some time, and Rose very nearly turned to leave, but then the Queen spoke once more. "Fauna told me a bit about the wicked fairies during our travels," she said. "I also read about some of them. But it was a lot to take in, and it was all very confusing to me..." The Queen clasped her hands—this, Rose had observed, was how she tried to hide nervousness. "I don't suppose you would tell me more of them?"

Rose's immediate response was suspicion. "Why would you want to know of wicked fairies?"

"I—well—I wanted to..."

The Queen's attempt at an explanation was interrupted by a servant at the door of the dining hall. "I beg your pardon, Majesty, but the King's search party has returned."

Rose's grip upon her staff tightened. The Queen turned her head sharply from Rose to the servant and back again. "Thank you," she said to the servant while looking at Rose, and "I suppose we must go and greet them," she said to Rose, while looking at the servant.

As soon as Briar Rose entered the main hall, the murmuring voices of King Stefan's search party rose in volume like a swarm of angry insects, and as a unit they moved toward her. Rose could hear bits of phrases between them—"so worried"—"Princess Aurora"—"let's get you to"—"Prince Philip"—"don't you realize"—"poor little girl"—but long before she'd made out a full sentence, her survival instinct overtook her.

She brandished her staff, and with a whispered utterance knocked them all onto their backs and into an eerie, stunned silence. Two men were left standing, the two who had not approached her: King Stefan and Prince Philip.

"Aurora..."

"Don't come any closer," Rose responded. Though her heart was racing, her voice sounded cold, and more or less calm. She lifted her chin ever so slightly, and she realized as her eyes focused upon Philip that her magical prowess had caused her to grow taller.

It occurred to Rose that she hadn't any idea of how she looked now. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even had access to a mirror. She had consciously avoided looking into any of them upon her return to the Eastern Kingdom, and had removed the ones in her chosen room (a seldom-used guest room at the far end of the upstairs corridor) as quickly as possible.

"What has become of you?"

To her immense surprise, Rose nearly laughed. It was a curious feeling, for she was neither happy nor amused. While she considered her response, her eyes scanned the dozens of men who were still occupied pushing themselves up into a sitting position. What had become of her? She settled upon a small, mirthless smile and a shake of her head. "More than I could possibly say," she said quietly. "One might say I've reached my full potential."

Philip let out an incredulous scoff. "This is your full potential?" he wondered with a wild gesture towards the fallen men. "You must know that's madness, Aurora. I hardly recognize you."

Rose felt the familiar urge to fire upon him, but she found that she could contain it. It burned low and ominous in the pit of her stomach, and she held her head higher. "Perhaps you never saw me to begin with, Philip."

Philip continued to speak, but Rose found that she could not bear to listen. His words sounded to her just like the irritating voices of the King's men as they beset her, and all of them now stared at her in utter bewilderment.

Rose shook her head to clear it. She would not attack Philip. She must leave immediately. She must leave...she must...

 _I am not here_.

 _I am upstairs in my room_.

 _I am not here_.

 _I am upstairs in my room_.

Rose wrapped her arms tightly about herself as she felt the world recede from her, and when she gathered the courage to open her eyes, she found that she was indeed upstairs in her room, looking out the window as the last rays of sun slowly disappeared from the sky.

She supposed she'd have to deal with them someday...but she felt a small jolt of something remarkably close to happiness when she realized that she held that power. She would face them eventually, but it would be on her own terms.

* * *

"A resident human sorceress," Sara echoed quietly, deep in thought.

"That is the official word, Excellency."

Sara had traveled much in her lifetime, and she had encountered many different types of humans, but the ones who lusted for power were the worst of them. What did this little princess think she was playing at? Did she think she would capture the power of the Fae so infamously and then simply return to her own world to rule with it?

The human King and Queen of the Sea Kingdom were but figureheads. They were kind-hearted, simple-minded people who adored Sara and taught their family to do the same. The adoration had of course come from fear a few generations back. These rulers feared her, too, as well they should, but they were at least kind enough to act as though they genuinely liked her.

By contrast, the rulers of all the Three Kingdoms were far superior in influence to that of the three good fairies who resided there. Those fairies and their kingdoms were profoundly lucky Maleficent had no taste for political power; they couldn't even have given her a run for her money.

If a human sorceress were to usurp the throne, there was no telling what would happen. Humans who dabbled in magic were prone to madness, particularly because the only magic they ever dabbled in was that of the wicked fae. Sara had heretofore believed that the human princess was being manipulated, but now her actions indicated that she was acting at least partially of her own volition. That spelled danger.

This particular human sorceress had access to considerably better resources than the common witch. She'd been affected by Maleficent's magic since birth, and therefore drew from it. On top of that, she'd benefitted from the tutelage of at least two of the most powerful wicked fairies in existence. In all likelihood, she had more magic and more knowledge than she knew how to handle.

Then again, this would be a most inconvenient time for some sort of foolhardy coup. It was possible the wicked fairies had sent the girl on this misguided quest to assert her power as a distraction. But Sara had underestimated the girl once before. Better to deal with this as swiftly as possible, distraction or no.

"Send word that I'd like to request a meeting with the human sorceress," she said at last. Titania's orders be damned. Circumstances were changing far too rapidly to wait around for the Sky Kingdom's nonsense.

"Yes, Excellency."

Then, as an afterthought, "And the King's counselors. Separately, of course."

This gave the good fairy messenger pause. "Milady?"

Sara waved her hand in dismissal. "Just in case the princess thinks she wants to play politics."

* * *

"Good to see you awake, pet."

Maleficent's vision blurred, came into focus, then blurred again. The world seemed to her at once uncommonly bright and uncommonly dark, and she was only vaguely aware that Kinsale sat at her side because of the direction from whence her voice had come.

"How are you feeling?"

Maleficent scoffed, but even this small expenditure of energy caused her immense pain and she grimaced. "Never better."

The light touch of Kinsale's fingertips on Maleficent's forehead caused her to wince, not because she felt pain, but because she couldn't remember the last time she'd been touched so gently. The world came into focus. Kinsale smiled.

"How long have I been out?"

"I couldn't say exactly," said Kinsale as she lightly trailed her fingers along Maleficent's hairline. "I found you a little over a fortnight ago."

A long time. As long as or longer than she'd taken to regain consciousness after the battle with her mother. Then again, she'd been afforded minimal opportunity to recover from her brush with death at the hands of Mistress Sara, and she'd had a multitude of bouts with sleeplessness in the past two decades. Perhaps she was long overdue for a rest.

"What's become of you?"

"The first explosion came as a bit of a shock to me, I confess. I ended up near the Desert Lands, of all places." Kinsale's voice carried its usual sing-song quality, but there was something ever so slightly strained in the sound. "I tried to pay my friend, Makeda, a visit, but there was a blue X over the door. I expect that means the good fairies have a fair amount of Truth Serum on their hands now."

"How wonderful." Maleficent closed her eyes and attempted a deep breath, but all she achieved was an unsettling wheeze. Logically, she knew she'd recover sooner or later, but if the good fairies had indeed gained such an advantage, she'd much prefer to be back on her feet sooner.

"I don't understand why there have been so many explosions, though. Seems like a foolhardy move, or a last-ditch effort. Or a scare tactic, I suppose..."

Kinsale liked to speculate as a rule, but this sort of vague, wandering thought process coupled with the telltale wavering in her voice seemed steeped in real fear. Kinsale wanted to know how the war was going on a grand scale. She didn't want to believe what Maleficent had long accepted: the wicked fairies were likely to lose.

"Have you found anyone else?" Maleficent dared to ask, but she did not open her eyes. If there was bad news, it would show in Kinsale's eyes. She would not bear witness to it.

Kinsale was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, she'd dropped all pretense of cheer. Her voice was quiet and very, very tired. "I found Inopius, but another explosion separated us after little more than an hour. A small party of young fairies I didn't recognize told me they'd met Nicodemus and Velan with a few other men, also young. No word from Zenovia, but I imagine she's keeping her head down. It would take more than a magical explosion to catch her off her guard."

The way in which Kinsale stopped speaking seemed abrupt, as though she had almost continued and then thought better of it. But perhaps Maleficent was paranoid. Kinsale would have to be dense not to realize whom she'd left out. Did she mean to force Maleficent to ask? What could that possibly accomplish? Was her fate so gruesome that Kinsale genuinely believed Maleficent wouldn't want to know?

"And Briar Rose?"

Maleficent's voice seemed unbearably loud to her own ears, although she knew she'd barely spoken above a whisper, and the question seemed to echo in the long silence that followed. Maleficent opened her eyes and set them upon Kinsale, who was turned away from her.

"She's unharmed."

Maleficent had seen Kinsale cry only once, and it had been recent. Sometimes, when they'd lived together, Kinsale would get a little dewy-eyed over what Maleficent inevitably found to be a particularly insipid novel or story, but her response to real sorrow was that of any wicked fairy: she bore the news with quiet resolve, and she grieved in private.

The only reason Maleficent had seen her cry once was because Kinsale had believed herself to be dismissed. She'd turned to leave, vocally refused to accept that Maleficent was resigned to her death, and then left to come to terms with it. Maleficent had been a bit surprised in retrospect that Kinsale cared enough about her to weep at the mere notion of her death, but she hadn't given the matter very much thought.

But now, Kinsale's shoulders shook, and the eerie silence in the room was punctured only by little gasps and sniffs, and none of the previous circumstances applied. Maleficent could easily see how Kinsale would be moved to tears if Rose met with some unfortunate end, but if she was unharmed, what reason was there to cry? What worse circumstance could there be that did not immediately spring to Maleficent's mind? What loophole was there in the phrase  _she's unharmed_?

"Kinsale?"

Kinsale took a deep breath, and her shoulders stilled. "I'm so sorry, Maleficent," she said, her musical voice heavy with misery.

Maleficent's concern quickly shifted into irritation remarkably close to anger. "Tell me what happened, why don't you!" she barked, ignoring the pain she felt in her chest from the force of her speech.

Kinsale swallowed audibly, but she remained unnervingly still. "She's returned to the Eastern Kingdom."

Maleficent's immediate response was a sigh of relief. She felt for one glorious instant that an enormous weight had been lifted from her chest. The girl had finally come to her senses, and she hadn't been the victim of a magical explosion before she had the chance.

"The word is that she returned as a resident sorceress first and a princess second. She's agreed to advise the King on the state of the war. And..."

Slowly, as though in a dream, or underwater, Maleficent closed her eyes. "And?"

"And Sara's troops intend to convene just outside the Eastern Kingdom within the month."

This reaction, unlike the flood of relief, came upon her with painstaking slowness. It began with a low burn in the pit of her stomach, then a dull ache in her heart, and it spread through her veins like a curse or a poison. No. It couldn't be. Maleficent would have seen it coming. Impossible.

Briar Rose had not run away merely to protect herself. She had run away to betray them all.

No! Inconceivable! Even with her vastly improved and admittedly impressive magical prowess, Rose was as guileless as a child. How could she have deceived not only Maleficent, but Kinsale and Zenovia, as well?

At the same time, she couldn't possibly be so stupid that she would not realize what her change of loyalties meant. If she'd merely intended to extract herself from the matter, that would be one thing, but to align herself with the other side, especially now that they had access to Truth Serum...

If it had been a snap decision, it had been an idiotic one in the most destructive of ways. Perhaps Briar Rose was occasionally foolish, but was she so foolish that she could bring nations down around her ears without even a second thought?

It seemed it was Maleficent who was the fool.

Maleficent wasn't certain how much time passed after that. At some point, she fell so deeply into thought that she lost consciousness, and only realized this when she could not remember where in her thought process she had left off. When she opened her eyes, Kinsale no longer sat at her side, and far more acutely than the physical pain that plagued her body, she was aware of a strange emptiness she had never known. She felt as though she were missing something vital—yet, at the same time, as though she were missing something she hadn't even known she possessed.

Briar Rose had betrayed her.

Had or would, soon enough. Even if she didn't intend it, to deal with the other side would inevitably lead to disaster. Rose knew too much.

So curious. In order to betray, one must first be trusted.

Had Maleficent trusted Rose?

Imbecilic, at best. It was one thing to care for her, to lust after her...but Maleficent had dared to entertain half-formed delusions of love. This hysteria, she now remembered, had gotten Maleficent into her current predicament. She'd been in a frenzy, positively stark-raving mad at the mere notion, and here was the crux of it!

Maleficent had never fully trusted another soul, and she was uncomfortable handling the trust of others for just this reason. She'd run away from Kinsale when she'd sensed it, and she'd endeavoured to drive Briar Rose away for the sheer idiocy of it. How miserably she had failed!

How miserably Maleficent had failed in all things!

What had been Maleficent's original intention? To enact a good, clean bit of revenge. Simple. While Maleficent certainly had a talent for complicated, long-range planning (and, possibly consequently, for manipulation), she had very little interest in the day to day lives of humans, or even most fairies. Why, given the option, Maleficent would most often prefer to be alone. People bored her at best and exhausted her at worst.

And the nerve of the Eastern royals! That they should so haughtily declare their desire for Maleficent's absence! As though Maleficent desired their presence!

As though Maleficent had asked the Queen to come knocking upon her door!

As though Maleficent had asked for any of this nonsense!

Maleficent let out an insufferably weak groan of frustration, which caused her chest to seize up in a nasty cough.

"Awake again," Kinsale remarked quietly from the doorway of the ballroom.

This was the first time Maleficent was aware enough of her surroundings to realize she was in her home in the Dragon Country. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her racing thoughts.

"I've never felt so foolish in all my days," said Maleficent after a moment, eyes still closed. "I don't know how anyone endures it."

Kinsale responded with a quiet huff of amusement. "I'm certain you'll pull through."

"I suppose I shall get my wish after all."

"Hmm?"

"I meant to kill her for nearly two decades. Now I have a much better reason."

Maleficent could hear slow, quiet steps as Kinsale cautiously approached. "You really mean to kill her?"

"Of course," Maleficent replied coldly. "Did it sound like a joke?"

"Suppose it isn't a betrayal—"

"If it isn't, then it shall be, and you know it!" Maleficent snapped. The stakes were clear to her. If she allowed Briar Rose to fall into Sara's hands, she'd be tortured for fun, given Truth Serum for her knowledge, and then burned at the stake like any other prisoner when she was no longer of use.

Kinsale knew all of this, but she was blinded by sentiment. She, once as guarded as any other wicked fairy, now clung to some idiotic notion that because Rose might not grasp the full extent of her actions, whatever affection existed between them remained valid.

"Maleficent, won't you at least go and talk to her before you make any rash decisions?"

"What is there to discuss, Kinsale?" The frenzy she felt bubbling in her chest granted her strength, and she sat up. "What else would you have me say that will later spill forth from the girl's lips with the first drop of the Serum?"

"Just explain the situation!" Kinsale insisted. "Perhaps it isn't too late to—"

"To  _what,_  Kinsale? Shall I truly kidnap her this time around? Shall I cast a sleeping curse to be broken only by True Love's Kiss? What is your brilliant plan, O Great Schemer?"

"And what is your plan, if I may be so bold?" Kinsale snapped in response. "Slit her throat and run? Never look back? Run and run and run until you convince yourself she never loved you?"

"Love!" Maleficent cried. "What is all this sudden talk of love, of all the imbecilic notions?"

"Are you still so afraid of it? Truly? After all this time, you still cling to that stupid old lie?"

Maleficent's voice dropped abruptly from shouting to deadly calm. "Is it a lie?"

"Yes!" Kinsale shrieked, and again her eyes were full of tears. "Yes, it's a lie! I loved you! I fell in love with you, and you ran away, and I see now it wasn't because you couldn't love me back, it was because you were afraid!"

Kinsale's accusation hung heavy in the silence that followed, accompanied only by her ragged breathing as she furiously fought back tears. Maleficent was far too stunned to feel much of anything.

Kinsale turned away from Maleficent. "Do you know Rose told me she loved me?"

Maleficent didn't respond. The words barely made sense to her.

"After...my, but it must have been the very first battle," Kinsale continued quietly. "I was only staying with her because she'd fainted, you know, and she just...just said it. The words were so natural to her, and I couldn't..."

Still Maleficent could not bring herself to say or do anything. She was lost in a memory she'd never fully understood before this moment.

She saw Kinsale in her mind...younger, sharper, crueler...but on this day, she saw something foreign shining in Kinsale's eyes. They'd spent the entire day together. They'd had breakfast, taken a long walk with arms linked, had lunch, and spent the afternoon and evening intermittently reading and talking, ever side by side.

At some point in the early evening, just before sunset, Maleficent had looked up from the book she was reading to ask Kinsale her opinion on something, and she'd found that Kinsale was already looking at her as though she had something to say.

She waited, but nothing came.

As the silence lingered, Maleficent began to feel uncomfortable. Kinsale looked troubled, and there was that something twinkling in her eyes, at once joyous and terribly melancholy, but she did not look away. At last, she leaned in and kissed Maleficent, lightly at first; but then she set aside her own book and took Maleficent's face in her hands.

That kiss was something far different from the countless others they'd shared. At first, Maleficent was inclined to succumb to it. The passion was unprecedented and intoxicating, to be certain, but the longer it lasted, the more intense it became. Maleficent began to feel a peculiar sensation in the pit of her stomach, and the fear she'd very nearly banished from her mind over the past few years gradually seeped through her veins like a poison until she felt numb and cold all over.

She pulled away.

_"Is something wrong?"_

_Everything_.

_"No."_

In the present, Kinsale remained facing away from Maleficent, awaiting her response to the information she'd been given and the accusation leveled against her. But Maleficent felt the exact same sensation she'd felt a century prior. Really, it was something of a relief to know she was still capable of feeling anything, even if what she felt was all-consuming terror.

"Briar Rose must die, one way or another," said Maleficent at last. "Even if there is love to be found in the hearts of wicked fairies, it is at the very best a needless complication."

Kinsale's shoulders hitched and she let out a shuddering sigh. "I never thought to call you a coward, Maleficent," she said quietly, and left the room.


	26. The Wreckage

A tiny bluebird landed on the fountain in the castle's largest garden, not an arm's length away from where Rose had sat for at least an hour. It was the first time in what seemed like forever that a smile felt effortless.

"Hello there," she said to the bird.

The bird responded with tuneful whistles, and it hopped a bit closer to her. The animals of the forest had always taken to Rose in this way, and Rose had never questioned it. She had delighted in their company—the only company she ever had—and sometimes in her childhood loneliness, she'd even imagined that she could understand the animals when they spoke to her.  _Hello there, Briar Rose_ , she'd imagine the bird had whistled to her.  _How are you feeling today?_

But perhaps this, like so many other things about her, was merely a trick of the magic gifted to her at her christening. Perhaps the animals flocked not to Briar Rose, but to the vestiges of Mistresses Flora and Fauna that had granted her the ability to ensnare passers-by with her beauty and her song.

Rose reached out to the bird, and it fluttered without so much as a moment's hesitation onto her outstretched fingers. "If you knew what these hands have wrought," she told it sadly.

The bird responded again with little whistles.

Rose sighed, and instead of saying anything else, hummed a little melody of her own. It was simple—she'd either made it up or heard something like it once and borrowed heavily from it. She couldn't remember exactly, only that she felt she'd heard it first in a dream.

The bird chirped happily along with her, even picked up on bits of her song, but then suddenly it grew quiet and still.

"What's the matter?" she wondered, but the bird took wing and flew away. Rose felt much sadder than seemed wholly appropriate for the loss of such agreeable company.

"Mistress Briar Rose."

The unfamiliar voice set Rose's nerves on edge. She stood, gripped her staff tightly and whirled around, only to find King Stefan standing some distance away from her.

"I didn't mean to startle you," said the King.

Rose had barely ever spoken to her father before. She had mostly heard his voice directed at others, and then it was in the way of a ruler. Now he was quiet and his voice was almost frail. "Did you want something?" she wondered.

"There is a matter of business, yes," said the King with a subtle frown. He had a long face and thick black hair, which extended to a thick black beard and thick black frowning eyebrows. Rose found it both curious and fitting that he looked nothing like her. "Mistress Sara of the Sea Kingdom wishes to arrange a meeting with you."

Rose could have sworn her heart stopped beating. "Mistress Sara?" she echoed stupidly. She felt like she might cry, or faint. "Why would she wish to meet with me?"

"I know very little of magical affairs," the King replied. "That is the business of the Good Fairies. However, they are otherwise occupied. Therefore, magical matters must fall into the hands of our resident human sorceress."

"Resident...?"

"Sorceress was the title you chose, was it not?" The King's frown deepened, and Rose began to feel slightly panicked. "The Queen and my counselors elected to make a public declaration in my absence."

"Public declaration?" Rose could not wrap her mind around the information quickly enough. All the words sounded foreign to her. The prominent thought in her mind drowned out all others:  _Sara meant certain death_. "Why would they do that?"

The King's face softened somewhat, and his frown became far more troubled than stern. "You look frightened," he said, he voice even quieter than before. As he continued, Rose slowly realized that his sternness had been an act. "I am sorry, but I know little else about it," he said. "I have always done my best to avoid magic..." he averted his eyes briefly "...and all the trouble it brings."

Rose recalled those strange early days she'd spent in Maleficent's care...the way magic had frightened and fascinated her, the way she'd longed to rid herself of all the magic that acted upon her existence, and the way it had drawn her into its thrall in the end. She remembered what Kinsale had written in her first letter: that if Rose was to cease playing the victim to magic, she must capture its power for herself.  _An argument could be made that magic is a tragically unnecessary complication in our lives_ , she'd written.  _However, we cannot deny it from existence_.

"Avoiding something that frightens you won't make it go away," said Rose to the King. "And choosing to remain ignorant to magical matters in a time like this will leave you nothing more than a victim in its wake."

The King gazed at Rose curiously. His eyes were bright blue, almost piercing, and Rose could not easily read any sort of underlying emotion in them. "I suppose you would know that better than I," he said after a moment.

Rose frowned and turned away. "No better than in this moment," she replied. She had been a fool to think she could escape the war so easily. And she couldn't very well deny Mistress Sara's request. But Rose couldn't imagine how a meeting with Mistress Sara would end well for her. What could she even want to discuss? No doubt Sara's interest had been drawn by the Eastern Kingdom's declaration of Rose as its resident human sorceress. Was it possible...

Again Rose was seized by the cold, clenching sensation of fear. She clutched a hand to her chest and bowed her head in sorrow. Was it possible that Rose, like Maleficent before her, had accidentally garnered a reputation more dangerously powerful than the truth of her existence?

"Mistress Sara frightens you," the King guessed. "It is my understanding that she is well-loved by her kingdom. Your fairy guardians, too, speak very highly of her."

Rose had never heard a positive word about Mistress Sara, and these words shocked her. "I find that hard to believe," she said. "But I've never met her. I don't..." she swallowed hard in a vain attempt to control the panic she felt rising in her chest. "I don't imagine our interests will align."

"Interests..." the King echoed quietly, thoughtfully. "I fear I know nothing of your interests now, my daughter."

Rose sighed.  _Neither do I_ , she thought, but did not say it aloud. Memories of her last sojourn in the Eastern Kingdom lurked forever in the corners of her mind, and she would not return to them. She would show no weakness to anyone here, not even her own father. No one here could be trusted.

Perhaps no one anywhere could be trusted.

"I'll meet with Mistress Sara," she said, in lieu of a reply. "I've no other choice. I cannot avoid her forever."

"On the subject of avoidance," said the King, "Prince Philip informs me that you've thus far refused to speak with him for any significant amount of time."

Rose almost laughed, and the feeling pained her, for there was no mirth in it. How far she had come from the days when she had longed for a moment of Philip's precious time! "Since when does a king play messenger to a prince?" she wondered, not without an edge to her voice.

The King let out a small sigh. "I seek only to understand something about your motives, Aurora. Why must you make it so difficult for your loved ones to have even a word with you?"

There it was. That condescension she knew so well in everyone else who inhabited this place lived also in her father, the King. As a small surge of anger coursed through her veins, Rose thought she was beginning to understand what could drive a person to cast horrific curses.

"I did not ask for conversation," she replied coldly. A part of her could not believe she had the nerve to speak so harshly to the King, or to the man who was her father, if only by blood. She imagined she would feel badly for it when this wave of anger passed.

"By coming here, I sought a sanctuary from the fairy war, but I was desperate, and it made me short-sighted." She turned away from the King and his piercing blue eyes, and focused instead on the lovely courtyard where she'd come to sit. "There is no sanctuary for me now."

She wondered whether the King would throw her out. It didn't matter. Sara would find her or Maleficent would find her—Rose honestly didn't know which would be worse. She'd seen the aftermath of the sort of torture Sara wrought, and yet even the thought of Maleficent's name caused Rose's heart to ache. Rose had betrayed her. And if Maleficent was as cruel and merciless as she was to her enemies, Rose could not even begin to imagine the fate that lay in store for her betrayers.

"That isn't true, Aurora. You are safe here."

Rose clenched her hands into fists. "Please don't call me Aurora," she said. "I've never known it as my name, and it pains me to hear it."

"I've never known my daughter by any other name."

"Stop!" Rose cried and turned on her heel to face the King. She felt flushed and dizzy with the force of her anger. "How can you speak this way?" she demanded. "You who cast me aside in the name of my safety, how can you now ask for that time back?"

A flash of pain crossed the King's unnervingly clear eyes. "We had no other option," he pled, still so quiet...almost meek.

Rose felt her throat tighten, and she furiously fought back an onslaught of angry tears. "There are always options!" she shot back. "Just because there are no  _good_  options doesn't mean you can just...just  _ignore_  the consequences of the path you choose!"

Perhaps Rose was partially yelling at herself. It felt a bit freeing to yell, really  _yell_ with abandon. It felt good to have this conversation outside of her own mind. It felt even better to finally get a rise out of King Stefan. His blue eyes flashed again, this time with rising anger of his own.

"And what path have you chosen?  _Briar Rose_?" he almost sneered the name. "A path of magic, of war and violence? Abandoning your family, your country, your duty? In the name of what? Your own personal satisfaction? A selfish child those foolish sprites have raised!"

These accusations stung, but Rose was too outraged to yield now. "In the name of my friends!" she cried. "How was I supposed to accept my fate without so much as a friendly word here? One day I was simply told that I was another person, and everyone seemed surprised that I couldn't accept it!"

"And you blame me for this," the King almost growled in response. "When it was the good fairies who—"

"Blame!" Rose nearly wailed and shook her head furiously. "Is that all this is ever about? The good fairies did this, the wicked fairies did that, you did this, I did that, none of it matters anymore! I am going to die soon because I am a fool who got mixed up in fairy matters far above my head, and all you care about is who did what to whom years ago!"

The King began to argue, but Rose's world had already begun to twist and turn and she had already begun to disappear into that place between where she was and where she willed herself to be. All too soon, she knew, there would come a time when she could not simply run away from a fight.

* * *

"Merryweather!"

But the fairy who turned to face Fauna was nothing like the fairy Fauna had known all her life. Her face was ashen, her eyes were dead behind the sheen of unshed tears, and her lower lip visibly trembled. "Fauna?" she uttered, and her voice cracked with even this simple sound.

Fauna approached, but she was hesitant to embrace her sister after the way they'd last parted. "What's happened, Merryweather?"

Merryweather grasped Fauna's arms. "Oh, Fauna, it is you!" she said. "Fauna..." Merryweather looked down and shook her head, then looked up and met Fauna's eyes once more. "Flora...she's dead! She's died, Fauna, and I don't know what to do! I was afraid you'd died, too, and I'd never see you again!"

"Flora...?"

"I'm so sorry for the way we parted, Fauna! I was all upset for no good reason and then you were abandoning me and I..." Merryweather's tears began to spill from her eyes. "Oh, Fauna, this is awful!"

Fauna had yet to fully understand the words Merryweather had spoken. She felt cold all over, and numb, and as though she might fall to her knees at any moment. "Flora is...?" She couldn't say it...couldn't believe it...and yet, she had to know. "How? Why? When? How can this be?"

"I don't know, Fauna, I don't..."

They wept and clutched at each other's arms for what seemed like an eternity. Fauna felt as though her insides had been ripped out and scattered to the winds, and she was left nothing more than a hollow shell.

She'd foolishly believed there would always be time to reconcile with her sister. She'd believed nothing would ever change, even if the dissenter was she rather than Merryweather this time around. They would fight, they wouldn't speak for ages, and then something would happen and they'd be sisters again without another word on the matter of their disagreement.

What had happened this time was irreconcilable. Flora was gone. Forever.

Once Fauna had pulled herself together enough to form coherent sentences, she learned from various sources (Merryweather wouldn't speak of it) that what remained of Flora had been found alone in an open field, burnt down to her bones. The thought made Fauna physically ill, but she knew she must press onward.

The magic that had burnt her was wicked fairy magic, of course, but not a spell anyone in Merryweather's troop recognized. If Fauna wished it, she could bring Flora's remains to a specialist once the war had ended.

An athletic fairy of average height gave Fauna a small parcel, carefully sealed with a particular brand of magic which Fauna recognized, but had never personally seen.

Fauna thanked the fairy and excused herself from her sister. She flew outside into the forest and collapsed among the trees, where no one could see her.

How could she take her sister's place? How could mild and meek Fauna look out for Merryweather, for the Eastern Kingdom once all of this had ended? How did she even mean to survive, if Flora could not?

This was all Fauna's fault. If she hadn't gone off on some mad tear, wanting to be her own person and make her own decisions independent of her sisters, they would have stayed together. Fauna would have kept Flora and Merryweather from fighting too much, and Flora wouldn't have gone off on her own somewhere and gotten herself...

What was Fauna to do now?

The immediate answer was obvious, for she had no other option. She was sworn to the Good Fairy Army, and her troop planned to unite under Milla's leadership for the time being. If a wicked fairy had cast such a powerful spell on such a relatively harmless lone soldier as Flora, it stood to reason that other equally dangerous and reckless wicked fae might be lurking in the area, waiting to strike.

The dreadful thing, almost as dreadful at the tiny parcel in her hands, was that Fauna knew of only a few wicked fairies who possessed that kind of power.

Had the Queen gotten to Rose in time? Fauna had absolutely no way of knowing. Communication was all but nonexistent. Normally Fauna would have an advantage in that she was skilled with enchanting birds, but the only birds to be found in the wake of battlefields were crows and huge, terrifying ravens, and Fauna had no power over such creatures.

At the thought even of Rose's name, Fauna clutched the wretched parcel to her chest and began to weep anew. Was she held captive in body or in mind? Did she rot in a dungeon or had she been swayed to fight upon the battlefield, a weapon of the side who opposed all who loved her?

Even if she survived, even if the Queen had already rescued her and she was safe in the Eastern Kingdom, what sort of world lay in store for her? Must she spend as many years as she had lived already unlearning the wicked lies of her captors? Would she forever look upon Fauna and Merryweather and her own parents as betrayers, to be feared and mistrusted?

"Oh, no..." Fauna breathed aloud.

What would Briar Rose think when...oh, how was Fauna ever to tell her what had become of Flora?

* * *

Maleficent had never precisely known what it was to be lonely, for she had never possessed whatever loneliness lacked. Yet, in this moment, she wondered whether loneliness might be what she was experiencing. Kinsale did not depart from her company, but ostensibly only because of the war and Maleficent's inability to heal properly, for Kinsale would not speak to or even look at Maleficent. Briar Rose was not only gone from Maleficent's life, but must soon be removed from existence forever, lest she doom an entire species, intentionally or not.

When Maleficent caught sight of a stately figure on the approach, she decided that she must truly have been lonely for the first time in her life. The flood of relief she felt upon recognizing Zenovia was unlike anything she had ever known.

"What's the matter with you?" Zenovia frowned.

Maleficent realized she was smiling, and wondered what a twisted sight that must be. "Forgive me," she said. "It is good to see you."

Zenovia's frown deepened. "Did an explosion knock you on your head?"

Maleficent bowed her head and took a moment to restore neutrality to her facial expression. "That would certainly account for many things."

"Is anyone with you?"

Maleficent's good mood was instantly dampened. "Kinsale. According to her sources, Nicodemus and Velan were confirmed to be alive after the most recent explosion."

"And Briar Rose?"

The sound of the name physically pained Maleficent. Her posture hunched over subtly, as though she were nursing a real wound. "Alive," she said quietly. "But she'll have to be killed."

Zenovia sat next to Maleficent. "Why? What's happened?" Her tone was as brusque as ever, but the mere fact that she'd chosen to ask indicated that she could see Maleficent's distress. Maleficent found that she was touched by the gesture. Zenovia would not have even attempted any show of solidarity with anyone else.

"I don't know exactly. The Eastern Kingdom has declared her its resident sorceress, and Sara has taken an interest."

Zenovia was silent for a moment. "I see."

Maleficent closed her eyes. "I thank you for sitting with me, but there's no need. I know my options. The way forward is clear, and I accept what must be done."

In response Zenovia placed a hand lightly on Maleficent's shoulder. The contact was surprising, but not overwhelming or confining. Zenovia didn't say anything else. She sat at Maleficent's side in silence for another hour or more.

Kinsale appeared close to nightfall. Her eyes were full of untold sorrows, but she gave Zenovia a smile and a curt nod. "I'm glad you're well," she said. She continued speaking in no particular direction, and there was something distinctly stiff about her entire demeanour. "We'd best move first thing in the morning. I doubt my brothers will think to look here, and Sara works quickly."

She paused for a moment, nodded at the empty fields before them, and then went back inside.

"What's the matter with her?" Zenovia wondered.

Maleficent's response was to rest her head in her hands.

"She's upset with you?"

"Hmm."

"A fine time to have upset her," said Zenovia wryly.

Maleficent reappeared from behind her hands to award Zenovia a fearsome glare.

Zenovia was, of course, undeterred. "Not a lovers' spat, I hope."

Maleficent turned her gaze upon the fields. "I wish that were completely off the mark."

Zenovia sighed pointedly.

"There's no need for that," Maleficent snapped. "I didn't force this conversation upon you."

"Old habits die hard, Maleficent," Zenovia replied. She took a breath, hesitated, then seemed to decide to continue. "I fear you shall always seem a bit like a daughter to me."

Maleficent sneered. "Fortunately, I've no interest in the Mountainlands, so you may take your maternal instincts and—"

Zenovia chuckled quietly. "Perhaps daughter was the wrong word. Forgive me; my battle is much farther in the past than is yours. I meant that I shall always feel a bit protective of you."

Maleficent let out a huff of frustration and rested her head in her hands once more. "What a kind sentiment," she replied flatly. But she couldn't imagine why it was relevant now, of all times. "If you intend to start speaking of some deluded notion of love, I'd appreciate it if you'd set me on fire, instead."

"Perish the thought," said Zenovia, and despite the fact that Maleficent had unwittingly given Zenovia information she'd rather not have divulged, she could not help but feel immensely relieved at Zenovia's words.

"But," Zenovia stood and patted Maleficent's shoulder, "you really must do something about Kinsale. She was already insufferable before she was heartbroken."

"I'll get right on that."

The truth of the matter was that there was nothing Maleficent could do. What she'd said to Kinsale was true: it didn't matter whether wicked fairies could love or not. Love always brought about ruin in the end.

A prime example: Kinsale wouldn't be happy about killing Rose, no matter what Maleficent said. Nevermind that if Rose were left to whatever her own devices might be, she would betray them both to Sara within an hour. Rose had told Kinsale she loved her. Therefore she must not die. Nonsense.

Live, die, live, die...did it really matter in the end?

It wasn't as though Maleficent looked forward to killing Briar Rose. She did her best not to dwell upon the matter much, though of course various incarnations of the idea had been haunting her dreams for upwards of a week. Nevertheless, it must be done, and Maleficent must be the one to do it.

Tomorrow morning, Kinsale had said.

Maleficent closed her eyes, and once more rested her head in her hands.

_I lived half a dozen of your lifetimes before I knew your name..._

_Under different circumstances, I would live thousands of years after you died_.

A fool's words. Spoken in a moment of weakness. Maleficent had feared that she must watch Rose die at an enemy's hands before she, herself, fell. She'd felt an overwhelming desire in that moment to say something at which she could only scarcely grasp, to share the imbecilic thoughts which plagued her before all of her thoughts were wiped clean from this world forever.

What must she say now, instead, with so little time and such a dismal task ahead of her? Now that Briar Rose's death would be at Maleficent's hands once more, had all that transpired since Maleficent first wished death upon her truly come to nothing in the end?

* * *

"May I ask you something?"

Rose let out a small, wistful sigh as the little bird who'd been chattering at her flew away in fear of Queen Leah. Animals had been her friends for all the days of her life, and they'd loved her aunties nearly as well. It had never occurred to Rose until very recently that animals might run from most humans.

"All right," said Rose. She didn't turn to face the Queen.

"What is Zenovia like?"

Rose had no idea what sort of question she had expected, but it certainly wasn't that. In fact, this question was so surprising that it took Rose a moment to process what exactly the Queen had said, or if she had imagined the words. It didn't seem like a question with one correct answer, or something which required a lie. It was a genuine request for information. Rose turned and met the Queen's eyes.

"Stern," she began. "At first, I found her intimidating."

The Queen remained silent and attentive, and her silence encouraged Rose to speak on.

"She's very skilled and very hard-working," Rose continued cautiously, "and she demands the same of everyone around her. She doesn't care for much company. She doesn't like Kinsale, but I think it's mostly because she's so talkative. Zenovia is straightforward and blunt. I...liked that." Here, Rose paused, for she found that with these words, she missed Zenovia. Zenovia did not sugarcoat the truth. Zenovia answered the questions she was asked without pretense or hesitation.

"She taught you. Magic," said the Queen after a moment's silence.

Rose nodded. "Ma..." she swallowed. "Maleficent...asked her to." If Rose had thought that her days of longing for what could not be had come to an end, she was incredibly mistaken.

"I think it was Kinsale who told me that Zenovia's mother used to place curses on her and her sisters as punishment, and that they had to figure out how to break them."

"That's dreadful," the Queen breathed shakily.

"It's common," Rose replied, almost coldly.

Rose heard two soft footsteps, then a hesitant intake of breath. "What was it like? Learning...magic?"

"What was it..." Rose looked up at the Queen, stunned.

The Queen looked back at her, hands clasped, delicate shoulders squared.

"Difficult," said Rose. "Frightening. Painful..." she thought of the way her anger had overwhelmed her, caused her to lash out with power she didn't know she possessed, of all those half-remembered nights she thought she would die of the pain—indeed, she'd wished it!

She tried and failed not to think of her greatest offense, that which she could never undo, and for which she could never forgive herself. "Horrible," she breathed. "Shattering."

But even as these thoughts clouded her mind, other, more pleasant thoughts shone through, and a small smile crossed Rose's lips. "Beautiful. Exciting." The tiny, yellow rosebuds upon the rosebushes caught her attention. It must be very early in the spring.

Rose doubted she'd live to see the roses bloom. With a small frown, she waved her hand gently at them. "Liberating," she murmured.

The roses seemed to glisten in the morning sun, and they grew and bloomed under the influence of her magic. Rose closed her hand into a fist and drew it to her chest. "Magic can wreak misery and destruction, it's true...but it can also do wonderful things. And..." she turned to look at the Queen, who was still gazing at the yellow roses in awe. "And sometimes wonderful things come in ways you don't expect. Like...like knowing there's beauty in the world, even if you can't see it just now. Knowing you can...you could make something good...like making a rose bloom...even if all you seem to make is trouble."

Rose stood and took slow, deliberate steps towards the path that led through the magnificent garden. Perhaps if she simply allowed things to happen as they would, she wouldn't live to see the garden bloom. She would meet death one way or another...Mistress Sara or Maleficent...and really, all of this mess was her own doing.

But Rose had gained something invaluable: she knew she was capable of more. She'd always had this power inside her, this thing that frightened and horrified and fascinated her. The same power that drew birds to her side and enchanted men with her song now caused her loved ones to look upon her with fear and contempt. But she hadn't known it—indeed, might never have known it. She'd fought against the realization. Perhaps she was still fighting.

Perhaps, as Zenovia had suggested, the battle never truly ended.

Rose held out both her hands, experimentally. She could make a handful of flowers bloom, certainly. Could even make one or two sprout from a bedside table, indoors. She glanced around the Eastern Kingdom's expansive flower garden, now only the faintest shade of yellowish-green with little spots of other colours, the occasional early flower buds here and there that looked from where Rose stood not unlike water droplets.

Her aunties had gifted her with beauty and song, but in giving her bits of their magic, they had connected her intricately with the natural world. Birds and squirrels and rabbits flocked to her side and listened to her speak and sing as though they understood, even though she could not offer them the same understanding. Briar Rose always seemed to find the ripest berries and the loveliest flowers to bring home to her little cottage, no matter the weather or the frequency of her searches, or even the season.

She'd taken it all for granted. She hadn't realized it was unusual, and when it had come to her attention, she hadn't wanted to be unusual. She'd believed she wanted to be a normal, simple peasant girl who might live in her beloved woods with her beloved aunties forever.

What was it Briar Rose truly wished? Now that she had so little time and so few remaining resources, now that the life of freedom and adventure she'd so madly sought was at an end, now that she had wrought so much destruction that could never be undone, how might she hope to best live out the brief remainder of her days?

Rose squeezed her eyes closed and began to spin around. She felt the gentle breeze catching on the fabric of her skirt as it billowed out in a circle around her, and she felt the familiar, terrifying, wonderful tingling sensation of magic flowing straight from her heart through her fingertips and all the way down to her toes.

She tried in this moment to let go of her sadness and her anger, of her regrets and her losses, and to focus only on the feeling of the magic flowing through her. She began to feel dizzy and light-headed, but she did not stop spinning until she could hardly stand anymore. She doubled over, panting, and she felt tears streaming down her cheeks. She could hear a dozen different bird calls coming from every direction.

"Oh, Aurora..." Queen Leah breathed.

Briar Rose took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The garden was in full bloom. Every last flower was perfect.

Rose spun around slowly, for she was still very dizzy. A smile slowly spread across her face until she was grinning so widely that it hurt. She let out a harsh, choking sort of a laugh and looked back at the Queen.

Queen Leah stood completely still. Her eyes were brimming with happy tears, and her hands were clasped over her mouth. Rose felt even happier knowing she had finally, just this once, made her estranged mother so happy. She took a few stumbling steps down the path, overcome by the urge to do something...perhaps give her mother a hug, or maybe pick a few flowers for her...but then stopped in her tracks when the Queen's eyes darted up to the sky, and her expression abruptly changed from one of overwhelming joy to shock and horror. Rose whirled around and followed her gaze, and without thinking, she summoned her staff.

Shooting across the clear morning sky above the beautiful garden, silent and graceful, was an enormous, swirling mass of magical fire.


	27. The Confrontation

For what must have been but an instant, it seemed to Rose that time had slowed down. As she watched the fireball descending upon the castle gardens, she considered the things she knew, and how she could apply that knowledge to her impending dilemma.

She knew how to heal burns, but not how to put out a fire before it had wrought its destruction.

She knew how to make flowers bloom, but not how to bring them back from utter ruin.

She knew how to shield herself, but she hadn't even the faintest idea of how to shield another person, let alone an entire non-person area. From the bits she'd skimmed over in Zenovia's books, it seemed incredibly complicated, and Rose had always imagined that the shield of a weak novice would be the last thing her fairy companions required of her.

She didn't know who had fired the attack, or why. Good fairies or wicked? A wayward spell or a deliberate warning shot?

She knew that, however it had come to be, the responsibility to defend the Eastern Kingdom from magical interference fell squarely upon her own woefully incompetent shoulders.

Rose imagined Maleficent throwing herself across battlefields in a blur and did her best to imitate the speed of such an act with only her feet to carry her. Too overwhelmed to form even a coherent word, she grabbed the Queen by the arm and all but dragged her back inside the castle.

Behind them in the gardens echoed a resounding blast as the fireball made impact. Rose did not dare look back.

The sound had already stirred up a commotion amongst the castle's residents by the time Rose and the Queen made it to the main hall. The castle guards had already assembled, and off-duty soldiers appeared from here and there, rapidly preparing themselves for battle.

"Excellency," the Captain of the Guard gestured to Rose as she entered the hall, and dozens of soldiers suddenly turned and stood at attention, eyes trained upon her. "We await your counsel."

"Have you seen who approaches?" Rose asked, and did her best not to stammer. She calmed her nerves considerably by repeating to herself the mental list of things she knew and things she needed to know.

"No one approaches us directly, Excellency. We've been able to spot two distinct groups of fairy warriors in the vicinity. They seem more invested in one another than in attacking the castle."

Rose nodded slowly, but her heart only beat faster. Good fairies couldn't travel the way wicked fairies did; they could never fully conceal themselves from the human eye. Suppose neither of the known entities had fired the warning shot—suppose there was a wicked fairy the guards hadn't seen...

"Do not engage them," said Rose to the soldiers before her. "Stand your ground, remain at the ready, but don't involve yourself unless you must. Most fairies don't wish to involve humans in their war, and they'll spare you if you don't get in their way."

Most of these same men had been in the search party Rose had threatened upon their return, and were not keen to argue with her. Many of them nodded their affirmation and most turned to the captain to await official instruction.

"All due respect... _Excellency_..." Philip's voice filled Rose with a peculiar flavour of unease, and she narrowly avoided flinching visibly. "You advise us to wait here like sitting ducks? In case the enemy does not attack?"

A few soldiers turned to look at him. Most turned to look at Rose.

"Didn't you hear me?" Rose asked him.

Philip turned to the captain, arms spread, expression indignant. "Do we intend to heed this advice? Do we intend to simply wait on the defensive? Allow the fair folk the chance to gain the advantage?"

"Mistress Briar Rose informs us, your Highness, that the fae are unlikely to attack us at all, if unprovoked. Do you wish to court needless casualties amongst your own men?"

"All due respect, Captain, you, yourself, said there were three dozen of them at the most. Surely we could—"

"All due respect,  _your Highness,"_  Rose cut him off, and did her best not to allow her annoyance to flare into unhelpful anger, "a single wicked fairy would be a match for your entire army."

"Prince Philip," said the Captain, "we are under advisement to defer to the magical in magical matters."

Philip's eyes hadn't left Rose. His gaze made her uneasy as she struggled with the two disparate images of him she still held in her mind, but she was too angry to look away now.

"So we'll blindly follow the words of a friend to our foes? Suppose she is a spy and still does the bidding of the wicked ones. What then?"

These words—the ones Rose knew many of the soldiers had good reason to believe—caused a low murmur to arise.

"You doubt the judgement of the King and Queen of the Eastern Kingdom, Prince Philip?" the Captain asked him pointedly.

Rose lifted her chin ever so slightly and drew her staff across her chest.

"No, sir," said Philip through clenched teeth, eyes still trained upon Rose, lip still curled into an uncharacteristic sneer.

Rose recalled a time when she'd found him handsome...but she imagined a large part of it had been the way he'd looked upon her with adoration. Now she saw real hatred in his eyes, and in a way, even though she knew so little of him in reality, it hurt her to see it.

The captain heeded Rose's advice, and the combined armies of Kings Stefan and Hubert were stationed at strategic points surrounding the castle, ready to strike only if threatened. It occurred to Rose as she made her way to the tower room that she'd completely forgotten the intended merger of the two kingdoms. She supposed she'd never expected to return, so it hadn't mattered to her. But the way the captain had spoken of the King and Queen of the Eastern Kingdom to Philip indicated that perhaps there were tensions in the human world of which Rose had never been aware.

Did the two kingdoms still intend to unite? Had the Eastern Kingdom accepted Philip as heir to the throne, or did they still hold out hope that their Lost Princess would return to them?

It had been...my, but it must have been nearly two years since Rose had last climbed these steps, and yet the half-memories that lingered there still haunted her as though they were but yesterday. The tower room remained much as Rose had remembered it, though now its lovely furnishings were covered in a layer of dust, and a rather large spider had taken up residence in the archway that led out to the balcony.

"Hello there," she said to the spider. "Good to see someone's making use of this place."

Just like those vicious-looking spiders Rose had seen in Maleficent's home in the Dragon country, this considerably less intimidating spider awarded her an approximation of a bow, and pulled itself out of her path.

Rose wondered how blind she must have been not to take any notice at all of her connection with animals all her life. She supposed she hadn't had anyone with whom to compare her personal quirks, and yet her utter dismissal of the topic still seemed rather odd to her in retrospect. She recalled the way the forest animals had gazed happily up at her while she sang and talked about nothing and everything, the way Kinsale's doves had taken to her, and then...the way Maleficent had spoken of her raven companion.

After the raven had died...that was when Maleficent had lashed out at her, frightened her away. And everything had gone so utterly mad after that that Rose had nearly forgotten all about the way Maleficent had spoken of her bird.

 _You and Maleficent might have more in common than you think_ , Kinsale had told her. Could it be that Maleficent shared Rose's connection with animals, only chose to seek out spiders and ravens rather than squirrels and songbirds?

Spiders and ravens...and dragons.

Rose rested her hands on the balustrade and surveyed the villages and fields below. She could see the colourful clouds that accompanied magical battle beginning to form in the skies around her, but they were nowhere near as intense as the skies she'd seen at the beginning of the war.

What was the meaning of this battle, here, seemingly so far removed from the bulk of the fighting? Rose had poured over maps in her ample spare time since her return to the Eastern Kingdom, but she'd only scarcely managed to get an idea of all the places she'd been during her time with the wicked fairies. What she had gathered was that wicked fairies didn't congregate near large bodies of water, and the Three Kingdoms were on a peninsula of sorts. The only wicked fairy who made her home near the Sea Kingdom was Zenovia, and the only wicked fairy near the Easter Kingdom had once been Maleficent. Most of the places whose pictures and descriptions seemed familiar to Rose were firmly landlocked.

Rose leaned over the balcony in an effort to get a better view of the surrounding land. Before she had even managed to focus on anything in particular, however, she heard a loud commotion coming from the castle courtyards directly below her. She wrapped her arms about herself and did her best to focus.

_I am not here. I am downstairs in the courtyard. I am not..._

* * *

The forests were rife with fairies, to be certain, but they all looked to be garden variety by Zenovia's estimation. This was the basest form of the war on their hands: weak good fae and equally weak wicked fae mindlessly shooting at one another through the trees, the same way they'd done as long as Zenovia had been alive.

"Safe to say there's no sign of Sara," she remarked flatly.

She didn't expect a response. Maleficent and Kinsale still refused to acknowledge one another unless absolutely necessary, and Zenovia found the whole ordeal profoundly foolish. Either or both of them could die at any moment. Did they truly intend to spend their last days or hours or moments on this earth in some petty feud?

So they'd been lovers once upon a time. Zenovia had never particularly approved of Maleficent's choice of friend, let alone lover, but seeing as her then-pupil's alternative to Kinsale seemed to be profound loneliness turned misery and paranoia, she'd never objected quite as vociferously as she would have under different circumstances.

Now that she'd spent far too much time in far too close quarters with the Mistress of Superfluous Chatter, well...she supposed she was willing to confess in the privacy of her own mind that there were, possibly, worse fairies one could consider friends.

Mistress Sara, for example.

"No, but there's another group nearby," said Maleficent at last.

Zenovia sensed nothing amiss, and she wondered if Maleficent was perhaps just as paranoid and delusional as she had been a hundred years prior. She gave Maleficent the benefit of the doubt, however, closed her eyes, cleared her mind, and  _listened_.

And damn it all if Maleficent wasn't right. "Large group. At least a few powerful among them. On the approach."

Kinsale's first action of the day was to take a few steps away from them, reel back, and arc an enormous fireball into the air and over the castle walls.

Maleficent raised her eyebrows. Zenovia frowned as she watched the direction the fireball had gone. "I never took you for bloodthirsty, Kinsale," she said slowly.

Kinsale had turned her attention to the direction from whence the unidentified fae were approaching. "I'm giving the humans a proper warning, of course," she said. A long pause, then, "Oh."

"What is it?"

Kinsale gestured to the fight already in progress. The cloud of magic that surrounded them had dispersed for a moment, revealing that at least two of Kinsale's brothers were among the wicked fairies, and they looked rather worse for wear.

"Idiots," Kinsale sighed.

"I suppose you're going to help them," said Zenovia.

Kinsale drew her staff across her chest and prepared to charge. "I suppose I am."

* * *

When Briar Rose materialized in the courtyard, she was greeted by two wildly disparate situations.

First, she saw that the captain, Philip, and a few other high-ranking individuals were ensconced in a heated argument with two good fairies. One Rose recognized—it was Mistress Zalia, who had captured her when she'd been alone in Kinsale's home. The second one was unfamiliar—she looked to be about Rose's height, with blonde curls at least twice as long.

Next, she heard the two most wonderful voices in the entire world.

"Rose!"

"Oh, Rosie, dear!"

Fauna and Merryweather were alive and well before her once more. They approached her cautiously, all tiny steps and wringing hands, but with smiles of boundless joy upon their sweet faces. Rose abruptly fell to her knees and embraced them both, all thoughts of defense and anger and betrayal momentarily abandoned.

"I'm so happy to see you both," Rose whispered, for she did not trust her voice to remain steady.

"Rose, we've been so worried!" Merryweather cried.

"But you're here! We're all here!" Fauna agreed, her voice a heartbreaking mixture of happiness and melancholy.

Rose held them both tighter and swallowed hard to fight back tears. "I'm so sorry," she breathed, and the words felt like a sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry for everything." With so little time left before Mistress Sara inevitably paid Rose a personal visit, all the petty particulars of Rose's qualms with her beloved aunties seemed trivial, at the absolute best. "I've really made a dreadful mess of things, haven't I?"

But Fauna and Merryweather continued to smile at her, and each of them gently smoothed back her hair and patted her cheek. "It doesn't matter now, Rosie," said Fauna.

"Everything's a dreadful mess, anyway," said Merryweather. "We're just happy to see you're all right."

"Mistress Briar Rose," the captain addressed her.

Rose stood, but was reluctant to let go of her aunties' hands. She glanced back at them once more before she turned to the captain, and it filled her heart with incredible peace to see that they still smiled at her just as they had all throughout her youth. Even after all that had passed, all that was still yet to come, they still loved her just the same.

"Two more fairy groups have arrived. The fairies you see before you represent the good fae. The other group is small—"

 _Oh, no_.

"—but these fairies warn us that they may be the strongest wicked fairies in existence."

Rose turned her attention to the fairies in question. She was taller than both Zalia and the unknown fairy now. They could not overtake her.

"Hello, Briar Rose," said the blonde fairy. "We've never met, but I've heard quite a bit about you of late. My name is Felicity. And...we were under the impression that Mistress Maleficent had been put to death. But she and her traveling companions, who are also highly lethal, seem to be outside fighting. Since you were reportedly their captive, we wonder if perhaps you know anything about them that might aid us."

So they were here. Perhaps all of them, together: Maleficent, Zenovia, Kinsale, and her brothers. Briar Rose knew something about them, to be certain: she knew they'd felled much larger good fairy armies than just a few dozen.

The hall was eerily silent, and it occurred to Rose that everyone was either looking at her, awaiting her answer, or looking down in a vain attempt not to look at her.

"It's my duty to keep my own people out of harm's way," said Rose. She ignored for the moment how odd it felt to describe these people as her own. "I want no more part in this fairy conflict."

Felicity's brow furrowed. "Hmm. Well then, I suppose I shall leave you to speak with Mistress Sara on the matter, when she arrives."

The sound of a bell rang from some distant and invisible place and it caught the captain's attention.

"That is the lookout's first signal, Excellency," he said. "The fighting has come very close to the castle walls. We will defend ourselves at the first sign of attack."

Rose pictured them all, the people who had looked upon her when she'd first awoken from her sleeping curse, the people who had welcomed home their Lost Princess, dying one by one at the hands of the wicked fairies who had looked upon her as an equal and an ally, if perhaps never as a true friend.

"If it is they, they'll kill you all," she told him gravely. "Do you not remember how easily I threw your entire army flat on their backs?"

The bell rang again, once, twice, three times.

"We are sworn to defend our castle, your Highness," said the captain with a small bow of his head. "And you are sworn to defend your people from the magic you have brought here."

Rose bowed her head, too, in a moment of mourning for everyone and everything she had ever known.

"Very well," she said quietly. "I'll do my duty."

The captain nodded. "Has your counsel changed, then, Excellency?"

Rose drew her staff across her chest and took a deep breath. "Prepare your men," she said. "Tell them only to attack the wicked fairies in large groups, never one to one. Try to drive the fairies back so their magic doesn't reach the innocents of the village."

The captain bowed to her once more, and turned to carry out her orders.

Rose felt ill.

She watched in a kind of daze as the soldiers and guardsmen assembled once more, led by Felicity, Zalia, and her own fairy aunts, and looked to her signal to charge forth into a senseless battle that might well cost them all their lives.

Like the coward she was, Rose fell far behind them, and kept herself obscured from the view of the fairies who were already engaged in battle. She could not bear to face any one of them. Surely they must know what she had done by now.

Rose crept forward with agonizing caution, one hand dragging along the walls of the castle, still unable to see anything apart from the usual magical cloud that surrounded any such battle. She approached one of the stone archways that led from the castle courtyard to the fields outside of the village and stationed herself there. Surely from here she could see the battle well enough to offer assistance without...

She peeked around the stone pillar and was greeted by what must be the worst possible circumstance.

Not a stone's throw away from the castle walls stood Maleficent, in all her terrible glory, engaged in the throes of battle. Rose had always steadfastly avoided watching Maleficent fight, but now that she truly saw it without the immediate threat of death looming over her own head, it was noting short of captivating.

Rose found herself creeping ever closer, drawn in by the sheer brutality of Maleficent's skill. She was again very aware of the sick feeling building in her stomach, the crawling of her skin, but she could not bring herself to look away.

In this moment, of all times, and after so long and so many things had happened, Briar Rose  _saw_. She saw what everyone else must always have seen whenever they looked at Maleficent, what she had steadfastly dared to ignore. She saw a monster, a heartless beast, a warrior who was ruthless, and would do anything to win.

So suddenly that the revelation almost threw her off-balance, where there had been nothing but a queasy sort of emptiness, Rose was filled with a singular emotion which eclipsed all others: hatred.

Without a single thought in her head as to the foolishness of her actions, Rose charged at Maleficent, staff brandished across her chest, and she made it three full strides before someone apprehended her.

"Well, look who I found!" said the voice of Nicodemus. He turned her around to face him, and the glare intended for Maleficent fell upon his face, instead. "Rosie, we meet again, at long last."

Rose remained eerily calm, her only acknowledgement that she had been accosted a slight lift of her chin. Her rage left her immune to fear. "Nicodemus," she replied coolly. She glanced around, looking for Nicodemus's younger brothers, but caught sight of them engaged in battle some distance away. "You intend to face me alone?"

Nicodemus grinned and his gaze lifted to something behind her. "No need," he said. A chill ran down Rose's spine.

"Well," remarked the voice Rose would recognize anywhere, the voice that had haunted her dreams as well as her nightmares.

Nicodemus turned Rose around once more, presenting her to Maleficent like a prize. Rose remained too furious to feel the full effect of seeing Maleficent face to face again after all that had passed. She glowered without hesitation.

"You owe me, Mallie."

Maleficent smiled mirthlessly, but her dark eyes were fixed upon Rose. "Perhaps you want to rethink that statement."

"Come on, Kinsale says you've been raving about—"

"Silence," she said, and the word was just as effective as if it had carried a spell in its wake. Rose realized suddenly that she was not being held. She glanced around her to find Nicodemus kneeling at her side, face contorted in anguish.

Yes, she thought. This was the true Maleficent. The one who had so skillfully hidden herself from Rose's view for so very long...or perhaps the one Rose had willfully failed to notice standing in plain sight. Those divergent images of her captor and mentor, her tormentor and friend, her would-be murderer and her saviour, melted from her mind like a sigh of relief, and at last Rose was able to see without reservation what everyone else had seen all along: a monster.

With this thought foremost in her mind, Rose turned her steely gaze back upon its intended recipient.

Maleficent met her glare evenly with a neutral expression. With a flick of her wrist, Nicodemus began sputtering obscenities as he made his way to his feet. "Return to your foolish battle, Nicodemus," she sneered.

Rose felt Nicodemus's hands hovering an inch away from her arms, but before she could lash out at him, Maleficent held out her hand to stop him. "No, no." Her voice was perhaps even colder than it had been before. "The betrayer," she said, locking eyes with Rose once more, "shall answer to me."

* * *

As soon as she saw humans charging into the battle, Kinsale knew this would be far more of a nightmare than she'd bargained for. Fairies were burnt at the stake for meddling in human affairs. She rather doubted that slaughtering them in some mindless battle with good fairies would be looked upon too favourably.

Her brothers seemed to have dispersed to nurse their wounds, so Kinsale turned her attention to attracting as many human soldiers to herself as she could. She hit each one with a spell or two as soon as they emerged from behind the castle walls until they looked her way, and most took the bait.

While she kept the human soldiers occupied, Kinsale took a moment to survey the battlefield that had arisen. Still no sign of her brothers, which was for the best, given this new development. She doubted they'd bother to spare human lives if provoked—doubted they'd even give it a second thought. No Maleficent to be found, either. It was likely she'd already found her intended target. Kinsale didn't want to think about that for as long as she could avoid it.

She threw another spell in the direction of the dozen or so human soldiers, but sensed something amiss behind her. Slowly, she tried to turn the battle so that she might get a look at it, and the humans unwittingly accommodated her. What caught her eye caused her to lose her focus, and one of the humans landed a slash of his sword to her shoulder. Kinsale barely contained a shriek, but it was not from the pain of the sword wound.

Not a stone's throw away from where she stood, she could clearly see the uniforms of Mountainland Fairies.

Not all of them, thank the stars, but three, all engaging Zenovia at once. Kinsale recognized Hilde among them, which very likely meant that her sources were correct—Sara was on her way.

My, but this was going to be a glorious mess of a battle.

Kinsale had heard all manner of stories about Zenovia. She'd heard that Zenovia's mother cast curses on her and her sisters as punishments—that bit was from Maleficent. She'd heard from various speculative fairies—though never confirmed through any reliable source—that Zenovia had bested her mother in combat when she was very young. She and Maleficent had speculated that this was Zenovia's reason for agreeing to tutor Maleficent at such a young age.

She'd heard that after Zenovia was released from the Chains of Avasina, she had foregone all pursuits outside of magical study. She had never been particularly outgoing, but she'd become a veritable recluse. She'd trained birds to tear up all mail correspondences for a decade, and even now only accepted mail once a week or less. She'd enchanted stone statues to attack anyone who attempted to come calling in person. The rumour was that by the end of those ten solitary years, Zenovia could have bested all the Mountainland Fairies by herself.

The truth was most likely that Zenovia had crafted for herself the precise reputation she desired. She wanted the Mountainland Fairies to hear such rumours and to consider that they might be true, not seriously enough that they would report Zenovia as a threat to the earth as they knew it, but seriously enough that they would never try to attack her so long as she kept her head down.

It wasn't that the Mountainland Fairies were unbeatable, by any means, and any one of them alone would likely be no match for a dueler of Zenovia's skill and ruthlessness. Their incomparable strength lay in the fact that they were trained relentlessly to fight  _together_.

And wicked fairies...well, they simply didn't know very much about togetherness.

Kinsale's first instinct was to aid Zenovia in battle, but Kinsale knew perfectly well she was something of a liability in a real duel. A human soldier was nothing to even the weakest wicked fairy, but even Briar Rose had bested Kinsale once—she stood little chance against even one Mountainland Fairy. Best for Kinsale to keep her eye on the human soldiers so they didn't get themselves massacred.

Another soldier got in a good slash of his sword, and the sting of the blade against her bare skin caused Kinsale to lash out with a rather more vicious spell than she had intended. More and more soldiers seemed to be surrounding her, and she struggled to keep Zenovia in her sights.

The next time she had a chance to check in, another Mountainland Fairy had appeared. They were using their chain attacks, those perfectly-timed sequences of magic that were said to pack a blow so powerful it could be used for executions. Zenovia's face remained calm and vaguely displeased as ever, but even from a distance, Kinsale could see blood oozing from a wound on her forehead.

Kinsale took another sword wound, and the chain attack hit Zenovia. Zenovia staggered backward and for just one instant, her face contorted in pure, unmistakable agony. The Mountainland Fairies were preparing another chain—Kinsale could see the magic bouncing back and forth between the three of them, one, two, three, two, one...

Kinsale struck the ground with her staff and knocked all the human soldiers who attacked her onto their backs. Then, in one long, powerful leap, she threw herself across the battlefield and into the line of the chained attack.

She felt three distinctive blows—one to her leg, one to her abdomen, and one to her head—before she felt and thought and knew nothing more but darkness, stillness, oblivion.

Without thinking, Zenovia caught Kinsale in her arms as she fell, and together they sank to the muddy ground. Zenovia was too stunned to think of running away or continuing to fight. She rather doubted she could stand on her own two feet after the blows she had already suffered. Instead, she gazed down at Kinsale's lifeless face and shook her head over and over. "Why?" she breathed, even as she felt the hands of one of the Mountainland Fairies pulling at her arms.

"Why would you do this for me?"

* * *

When Nicodemus had departed, Maleficent and Rose were left staring at one another, unmoving and unblinking. Rose could see in Maleficent's eyes that her mind was alight with a thousand different thoughts, and she could not imagine why Maleficent hesitated now, of all times, to act out against her at long last.

"What are you waiting for?" Rose asked her coldly. "Haven't you come here to kill me?"

Maleficent's expression remained impassive but for a slight furrowing of her brow. "Yes, I have."

Rose spread her arms wide. "Go ahead, then," she said. "It'll be you or Mistress Sara now, won't it?"

But Maleficent remained utterly, unnervingly still. "Leave," she said, scarcely even a sound over the noise of the battle around them.

Rose's surprise did little to assuage her fury. "What?" she cried in response, but the word was a demand for an explanation.

"Leave. Quickly. Before Sara arrives."

Rose drew her staff across her body. "Why on earth should you pretend to care what happens to me anymore?"

"If I didn't care what happened to you, I would have killed you long ago. I thought you'd gathered that much."

Rose shivered involuntarily.

"Or I could have let Nicodemus kill you as he saw fit," Maleficent's lip curled, showing her teeth. "And then Kinsale would have killed him. It would have been a most beneficial arrangement for me."

Rose shook her head to rid it of its treacherous thoughts. Kinsale didn't care about her, either. It had all been a lie. Kinsale only cared whether Rose died because Maleficent did, and now that Rose had betrayed Maleficent, she had betrayed all the wicked fairies. She would be just as happy to see Rose dead as alive, so long as the story surrounding it struck her fancy.

"What's the catch?" Rose demanded, still brandishing her staff. "What could you possibly want with me now?"

Maleficent remained infuriatingly immobile. "The real question, Briar Rose, is what you want with me that keeps you standing here, courting death?"

"For the first time," said Rose quietly, "I see you for the monster you truly are. I only want to make up for all the time I spent seeing a lie."

Something in Maleficent's eyes deadened, but it had no effect on Rose. There was no room in her heart for anything but hatred.

"I see," she said after a moment's pause. "Tell me, why do you brandish your weapon at me? What is it you intend to do, Briar Rose? Fight me to the death?"

Rose gripped her staff so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and she found that she felt no fear. "You took everything from me," she said. "You took my parents from me. My childhood, my education. You took my chance to know the man I was forced to marry before my wedding day. You took my name, my very identity—everything I could have been and can never be! And then!" she cried. "Then, as if that were not enough, you took away the life I had, instead! You took away my aunts, my..." and at the thought of the word, the word she had spat upon, the word she had ignored, and the word that now meant two and not three, Rose began to weep, but her tears ran hot, and her anger only increased tenfold.

"And even then," she continued at last, voice lower and deadlier than ever before, "even then you were not satisfied. You had to take my very soul from me. You had to draw me into your world of sick, twisted logic and lies and deception and magic!" As if to emphasize this point, she threw her hands into the air and a colourful stream of the loathsome stuff surrounded her. "You made me think it would help me! You made me believe you cared what became of me!" Rose brandished her staff, preparing to fire. "And still you weren't satisfied! You had to make me love you!"

With an almost imperceptible flick of her wrist, Maleficent knocked Rose's staff out of her hands. "Make whatever accusations you will, Briar Rose, but do not speak to me of such a ridiculous lie."

Rose laughed coldly as she summoned her staff. "I wish it were a lie! I wish I could say I always feared you, always remembered deep in my heart that you were despicable, but  _that_  would be the lie. I adored you! I would have laid down my life for you time and time again because I loved you!" Maleficent did not move to defend herself against the first shot Rose fired at her. She stumbled backward a few steps, clutching a hand to her shoulder where Rose's spell had hit her, expression forever neutral, eyes full of bewilderment.

Rose fired three more shots. Maleficent raised her staff to block the second and third, but she made no attempt at a counterattack.

"I wish I could take it all back! I wish I could just...just drain myself of my magic and my memory and forget these past two years ever happened. I wish I could just live the life I was supposed to live in blissful ignorance!" Rose fired spell after spell, all of which Maleficent blocked, but she never even attempted to retaliate. "It should have been  _you_  I resented for the life I lost, for the life I never had! It should have been your name I cursed, your memory I scorned, your wrists I snapped!

"I should have let you die!" she shrieked, and she began firing, one after the other, the most vicious spells she could think of. "I should have let you  _die_  for what you did to me!"

And Rose wasn't certain whether it was a particular spell or whether Maleficent had simply let down her shield, but every single spell she fired hit Maleficent one after the other, and the force of them combined threw her body up into the air, where it convulsed with the uniquely terrible combination of magic.

When she finally landed on her knees, face contorted in pain, Rose knocked her staff out of her hand and cast the final binding spell. She swung her staff over her shoulder and aimed it at Maleficent's throat. Rose was panting, her heart was racing, and her eyes were unable to blink. She would end this now. She would do with her own hands what she should have passively allowed two years ago.

Rose could kill someone. She was capable of it. And if she could kill someone who loved her, then she could kill someone who had been her enemy from the very beginning.

Maleficent opened her eyes and looked up at Rose with dignified resignation, and suddenly Rose came crashing back to her senses. All the rage she had felt a moment ago was gone, replaced by the usual empty queasiness she'd grown so accustomed to feeling, and once more she saw before her no monster, but a woman. A very flawed, very complicated, very troubled woman. A woman who had caused Rose unspeakable pain, directly and indirectly. A woman Rose very rightly ought to hate, a woman Rose wished she hated as much as her raving might suggest, but a woman she still loved at least a thousand times as much as she hated her, and a woman Rose could never, ever allow to die if she had any say in the matter.

Maybe Rose could kill someone. Maybe she was capable. Maybe she had done it once, because she was terrified and confused. Because she didn't know who she was anymore. Because she believed that who she was—the person she wanted to be, whom she'd tried to protect from a fate that seemed inevitable—was no more.

But now, Rose knew that she had always been herself. Even in her darkest hours, when she had wanted to blame her actions on someone else, she had remained Briar Rose. And maybe Briar Rose was capable, under extreme circumstances, of killing someone—even someone that she loved with all of her heart. But Briar Rose was also capable of great mercy. She was capable of moving beyond what her loved ones had done in the past and of beginning, however tentatively, to look to the future.

Rose slowly lowered her staff. She was trembling from head to toe. She felt hot and cold and dizzy and terrified, and she couldn't think of the incantation to remove the binding spell. It was possible that Maleficent would kill her once she removed it, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She would not, could never kill Maleficent, no matter what she had done.

But before she could gather her thoughts, Rose's staff was knocked from her hands once more. Someone grabbed her by the arms and when Rose tried to break free, she found that her captors were fae and anticipating such a reaction.

"Chain her immediately," said an unfamiliar voice from behind her. At these words, Rose panicked and fought harder against her captors, but two more fairies appeared bearing the Chains of Avasina—not for Briar Rose, but for Maleficent. A fifth fairy, taller and more muscular than the others, followed them into the field of Rose's vision and then turned to face her.

"Briar Rose, we meet at last," she said. Her voice was high-pitched, and so clear that it was piercing. "You've become a bit of a legend in a very short amount of time. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mistress Sara of the Sea Kingdom."


	28. The Execution

**Chapter 28 - The Execution**

Rose's stomach dropped.

Before her stood the infamous Mistress Sara. She was tall, maybe as tall as Maleficent, with sun-kissed skin and visible muscles in her arms. She had the heart-shaped face of most good fairies, nondescript brown hair that framed her delicate jawline, and bright blue eyes. Her features gave her the look of a person with a sweet disposition, and it was jarring to think of all the things Rose knew of her true nature.

This was the sweet-faced Mistress Sara, who had killed an ancient wicked fairy, who had turned the kingdom against the fairy's daughter, who had waged countless wars against the wicked fairies—against those Rose had called friends and allies.

In her mind, no matter how many times she had contemplated all the things about this war of which she was deeply, deeply uncertain, Rose still equated Mistress Sara with certain death. This was the woman who had at one time or another tormented every single wicked fairy Rose had ever met. This was the woman who believed that the world would be a better place without wicked fairies in it.

Rose thought of what her world would be like without Maleficent...Kinsale...Zenovia...even the story of Mistress Joy, of Acacia, the countless wicked fairies who must have died at the hands of their own mothers, the countless wicked fairies Rose might have never even known about if not for Maleficent.

By fighting against the wicked fairies, this was the woman with whom Rose had unwittingly allied herself.

"There's no need to be frightened," said Mistress Sara. "I am told you are uncommonly kind-hearted, and I cannot allow you to show mercy upon this woman. Maleficent is far more dangerous than you realize."

These words brought Rose rather quickly back to her senses. "No," she said quietly, for she found that her voice was hoarse from shouting. "I think I realize it better than most."

There was a time not so long ago when Rose would have fallen slack in the grasp of her captors, wept and begged for mercy, or kicked and fought despite how well she knew it would be futile, and a very large part of her wanted to do either of those things—anything but remain calm. But if there was one thing she had learned from her time amongst fairies, it was that the only way to make it out alive, let alone ascertain anything that she wanted, would be to talk her way out.

Sara nodded serenely. "Then I'm sure you'll understand that she must be put to death as quickly as possible."

Rose's heart wrenched painfully and she bit the inside of her mouth to fight back an onslaught of tears or words—she could not imagine which would be worse for her. "I..."

_No! Please spare her! I love her! I cannot let her die, no matter what has befallen between us!_

Rose averted her eyes. She could not even look at Mistress Sara and speak such a horrible lie as what she knew she must say. "Yes, I understand." The words felt like bile rising in her throat.

"She will be executed in your kingdom. You and your people have endeavoured to execute her before, as have I. " Mistress Sara spoke as nonchalantly as if she were discussing the weather. "I must insist that it be no later than sunrise tomorrow. Maleficent has eluded death for far too long, and each time, the vast expanse of her crimes against human and fae grows ever larger."

"Sunrise tomorrow?" Rose echoed stupidly.

"Plenty of time to call a ceasefire, and to alert a few key members of my council to the details of her capture," Sara explained. "Do you foresee a problem?"

 _Call a ceasefire_. Rose's stomach dropped.

"So," said Rose slowly. "You led your forces to my kingdom to lure Maleficent here." To her death.

Sara raised her eyebrows. "I am glad to see that we understand one another," she replied.

The battle had been staged. For the first time, Rose dared to take her eyes off of the fairies directly before her, and she surveyed the battlefield behind them. She thought after months amongst wicked fairies she'd have grown accustomed to a bit of gore, but the carnage that greeted her was just as horrifying and sickening to her as it had been on the very first day.

The fields outside of the village and castle were positively littered with the bodies of humans, good and wicked fairies, sometimes piled atop one another, all drenched in blood. The few remaining human soldiers ran amok, and Rose could not find the captain anywhere among them. Some of them seemed unsure which fairies they ought to be fighting, and lashed out at random. What had at first seemed a small battle had turned into an enormous one, and seemed somehow only to grow despite the many dead already.

And all Sara wanted out of this was Maleficent's death. Then she would call off the frightening fairies in matching uniforms. In the morning she would perform the execution the kingdom had hoped for long before they had any reason to, and then she would leave the Eastern Kingdom alone to mourn its dead. They'd be convinced that the wicked fairies were responsible for their sorrows, just like the people hundreds of years ago had blamed Mistress Acacia for Sara's collateral damage.

Rose swallowed the lump forming in her throat and tried in vain to calm the racing of her heart. She would not allow this. She would find some way of freeing Maleficent, at the very least. That much she could do. Maleficent had survived imprisonment by Mistress Sara before. Sara did not equal certain death. Not necessarily.

"Right," she managed. "Dawn tomorrow, then."

Sara nodded curtly, and Briar Rose watched as Maleficent was led away in Chains.

"Since we have so easily reached an agreement, Mistress Briar Rose," said Sara, voice still chillingly pleasant, "it seems we won't require an official meeting at the moment."

Rose didn't look at Sara. Her eyes were trained upon the spot where Maleficent had disappeared behind stone walls, to be led to the dungeons. Subconsciously, she wrapped her arms about her shoulders; however, the chill she felt was not in the air around them. "It seems we won't," she agreed.

Rose retreated to her room without speaking or even making eye contact with anyone she passed. Let Sara call her ceasefire, or let the whole castle go up in flames. Mistress Sara had played Rose before they'd even met, and perhaps if Rose hadn't been so self-absorbed, she could have prevented even a fraction of the damage she had wrought on this day.

She paced back and forth across her bedroom, staff abandoned by her bedside table, hands clasped and wringing nervously. She needed to think, to focus, to find some way of fixing even a fraction of her grave error, but the more she reminded herself of these things, the more anxious she became, and the less helpful her mind was in offering her anything but the direst of solutions.

"Rose?"

Merryweather stood in Rose's doorway, looking equally overwrought.

"Aunt Merryweather," Rose breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to see you." She hadn't dared to think of it, but all those bodies on the battlefield...

"I have to tell you something, Rose," said Merryweather, in the general direction of the floor.

Rose wrapped her arms about herself and turned back to the window. Now the sky was the garish mixture of colours she recognized from fairy battles. "I'm sure there are a thousand things I must one day tell you," she said sadly.

"Rose..." Merryweather's voice broke, and the subtle sound was shocking. "Flora is dead."

Briar Rose nearly doubled over, as though she'd been physically stricken by the blow of Merryweather's words. Her own response did not come easily, but it came far more quickly than she would have liked. "I know." Merryweather's admission had impaled her, and now Rose must withdraw the blade. "I killed her."

There it was—the word Rose had scarcely even dared to think. Killed.

"Rose... You can't be serious!" Merryweather's horrified reaction seemed to thunder in Briar Rose's ears.

"I didn't know it was her!" Rose continued, though each word felt like one more blade through her heart. "There'd been an explosion...I was alone...I didn't know where I was, and I was so afraid..."

"Oh, Rose...Rose, no..."

"I'd always had the other wicked fairies before, and they'd done all the fighting. I healed them when they fell...if anyone attacked me I got them as far away from me as I could, I swear it! I swear I never—!"

"Our poor little Rose, this can't be—!"

Rose began to sink to her knees. She felt as though there were a weight tugging upon her heart, and all she could do was to succumb to it. "But I was alone, and my whole body ached so badly I thought I would die, and I...I heard a noise, and I thought, oh, it could be whatever caused the explosion, and then..."

Merryweather had no more words to offer. She was crying. Aunt Merryweather, who never cried—who, Rose had imagined, would stick up her nose at any terror the world might offer her—was crying, because of Rose.

"I...oh, Aunt Merryweather, I didn't mean it! I didn't want to kill anybody! I thought of the most vicious spell I knew—and I didn't even know it, I'd only overheard it once! And then I saw! I saw it was Aunt Flora and I—oh, I tried to stop it but I didn't know how! I didn't know how and I watched...I watched..."

Rose covered her face with her hands. She wondered if Merryweather had gone, had left her alone in her disgraceful misery. Merryweather had come to tell her that her beloved aunt—Merryweather's eldest sister—was dead, and what had she learned instead!

Maleficent was not the monster who deserved to die in the morning; of this Rose was certain.

The feeling of Merryweather's little arms around Rose's shoulders caused her to gasp, and nearly choke. Merryweather laid her head upon Rose's shoulder, still weeping. "Poor little Rose," she whispered. "It's over now. There's nothing to be done about it now. You're safe. I'm safe, and Fauna's safe."

"But Merryweather, I—"

"It's a war, Rose," Merryweather cut her off. Her voice was still frail, but it had regained a bit of her usual firm determination. "People die in wars. Warriors kill in wars." She pulled away and rested her hands upon Rose's shoulders, and she awarded Rose with a tiny, melancholy smile. "And you're a warrior."

Rose looked down and clasped her hands in her lap. "I'm a monster," she said.

"Oh, Rose," Merryweather wiped the tears from Rose's cheeks. "That isn't true at all. I..." she frowned, hesitated. "I don't think a monster would care one bit that Maleficent was put to death."

Rose let out a heavy sigh that seemed to drain all the air from her lungs. Again she felt the heaviness in her heart pulling her downward. "I don't expect you to understand," she said, desolation hanging on every word.

Merryweather took Rose's hands between hers and patted them gently, a comforting gesture Rose hadn't experienced in what felt like a thousand lifetimes. "You know, dear," Merryweather began slowly, "there are a lot of things I don't understand." How it pained Rose to hear the heavy sadness in Merryweather's voice, and to know she was the cause of it!

"But I was, ah..." Merryweather paused, swallowed loudly, and continued, her voice a little higher-pitched, "I was thinking about it...and there were a lot of people who didn't like Flora. Me included, sometimes. Because, you know, she was—" and she outright sobbed the next word " _insufferable_. But..." Another long pause. Rose squeezed her hands.

"But every once in awhile, you know, she showed her good side. And I thought, you know, maybe..." Merryweather shrugged awkwardly. "Maybe Maleficent has a good side, too. But it's just really, really...really,  _really_  hard to see." She looked up at Rose. "So maybe I don't understand. At all. But what I meant to say was, I don't think you're crazy for caring about her."

She averted her eyes again and resumed patting Rose's hands. "I think...I think you just did what Fauna does. You saw something nobody else sees. Something good."

Images of Maleficent in battle fought to the forefront of Rose's mind. Her fearsome scowl as she swung her staff and threw spell after merciless spell at all who approached her filled Rose's heart with dread. She clearly remembered what it was like to despise Maleficent for those few moments in time, to see her as a monster the way everyone else seemed to, and surely Briar Rose had enough personal experience to agree heartily with the public opinion.

But just as easily, Rose could call to mind a thousand times when Maleficent was anything but a monster. She saw Maleficent reading by her fireplace, tending to the lone baby dragon who still hid somewhere in the Dragon Country's mountains. She remembered flashes of Maleficent helping her to heal wounds Zenovia's training had inflicted, thought of the terror that shone in Maleficent's eyes when she'd endeavoured to respond to Rose's innumerable clumsy attempts to reach out.

 _I can't give you anything that you need_ , Maleficent had said, her voice a mere echo of the powerful and terrible sound it could be.  _Friendship...kindness...comfort...affection... I know a great deal about a great many things..._

Black eyes shone with a kind of sadness that chilled Rose to the bone.

_...but I know nothing of those._

It occurred to Rose in a sudden and striking manner what she must do, if nothing else, and the realization both calmed her and filled her with dread. "Aunt Merryweather..." she began quietly. "I think I've got to go and talk to her."

"Rose..."

"No." Rose held up a hand, and Merryweather, to her credit, did not talk over her. "No, I said a lot of horrible things. I...I've done a lot of horrible things. I've got to try to make at least a few of them...not right. Perhaps..." she could not quite wrap her mind around the idea of a world without wicked fairies...a world which would come to be because of her. "Perhaps nothing will ever be quite right again. But better, maybe. Just a bit better." She squeezed her eyes closed. "That's all I can do."

"Rose, Mistress Sara won't allow it. You know that."

"Let them put me in Chains!" Rose cried, with a toss of her hands that felt at once frenzied and fearless. "Let the fairies in matching uniforms escort me! I shall put myself at their mercy to do what I know I must."

Merryweather looked like she'd like to say countless things, and it was very uncharacteristic of her to hold her tongue, but she remained silent for what seemed an eternity before she nodded curtly and squeezed Rose's hands as tightly as she could between her own. "Not so long ago, I feared I'd lose you to Princess Aurora," she said at last. "I suppose I shouldn't have worried that you'd ever become anyone other than yourself."

Rose met Merryweather's tearful eyes with a kind of astonishment. She didn't feel very much like herself...or like anyone at all, for that matter. But amid all the confusion in her head, she was certain she must speak with Maleficent before her death, and before Sara continued whatever mad conquest was her will, and this certainly coupled with Merryweather's faith in her gave her the courage to rise from the floor of her bedroom, and to take the first step towards whatever the future might bring.

* * *

Zenovia had never been what anyone might call a fairies' fairy. She was a scholar, a writer, and a devoted practitioner of her craft...which was to say, a mistress of chaos and destruction. Even in her youth, she had been introverted and standoffish, but of course this was nothing compared to the way she behaved when she was released from the Chains of Avasina.

Zenovia had a handful of living relatives. She had a very young niece (more precisely, a great-great-niece) who lived on an island somewhere with two daughters and a son, who wrote Zenovia at least once a month despite never receiving a response. She'd once had six nephews, and she imagined at least some of them had children and grandchildren by now, but many of them had surely been picked off in the war.

This knowledge filled Zenovia with a hollow, aching sort of sadness. To be certain, Zenovia did not thrive on social interactions, but centuries had passed since she'd known any sort of companionship at all. She imagined her remaining family must turn up their noses at her now, if they thought much about her at all, and justly so—but then why should it matter...why should it pain her heart if generations had lived and died without Zenovia's knowledge?

Zenovia laid her head against the cold stone wall of her prison cell, and turned her gaze in the general direction of Kinsale's. She didn't know if Kinsale was alive or dead—Sara and her disciples knew better than to assume a wicked fairy dead even under the direst of circumstances. It had been some time since she'd been in this place, but the smell of decaying remains still haunted her nightmares.

It was rather cruel, really. Of all the fairies in this world and every other, how dreadful that Kinsale should be the one whose face she would see every time she closed her eyes, for as short or as long a time as she might still live.

Zenovia winced. She'd thought about hating Kinsale in an effort to amuse herself, but the only result was the vengeful return of that aching hollowness in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't hate Kinsale. And she certainly didn't wish death upon her.

Particularly not in her own stead.

Wicked fairies made quiet prisoners. They rarely wept or bemoaned their injuries; they'd learned from an early age that crying only worsened matters. Zenovia seldom allotted much energy to the thought of children, but it occurred to her that there were two very distinctive sensibilities among her kin: those who had children and continued the vicious cycle of tyrannical parenting, and those who were too kind-hearted or too traumatized by their own childhoods to ever dare having children of their own.

Mustn't some of these mothers have good intentions? Mustn't they only hope to shield their children from the real horrors of this world? Zenovia had occasionally wondered if perhaps these frenzied mothers felt that a death at their own hands was more merciful than the torture of Mistress Sara.

Well, now it seemed another generation or two must live in the world the way it was. Maleficent, Zenovia, and Kinsale were the last of the more powerful wicked fae in the world. Of course Sara couldn't track down and kill every last wicked fairy in the world—nor would she. She'd allow everyone to believe she had for a time, enjoy her glorious golden age, bigger and grander than any of her previous crusades, and then she'd allow a wicked fairy or two to resurface. Perhaps release a pair from her dungeon, all skin and bones and mad eyes and shattered spirits. She would revisit her stance that wicked fairies were the source of all evil in the universe, and that the only way to control evil was to kill them all, and this would keep her in power until another generation of fae overcame their self-loathing and rose up against her.

Someone would defeat her someday, of course. Perhaps Zenovia had merely hoped she might live to see that glorious and terrible day when the world as she had always known it fell to pieces, that it might rebuild itself in some new and brighter way.

And perhaps...

Perhaps she had secretly, in the darkest corners of her mind, hoped that Kinsale would live on to document it in the insufferable way she did. Every detail, no matter how inconsequential, and riddled with flowery pleasantries.

Perhaps there remained a minuscule, insidious shred of idealism within Zenovia. This, above all else, was her undoing. When she had shut herself away from the world all those years ago, it had been with the deluded notion of one day emerging stronger than before, ready to take on those who would have felled her. Now, even after all she had seen and heard and done and learned, she realized she had never stopped hoping.

How very pathetic.

* * *

"I thought as much," said Mistress Sara pleasantly. A casual observer might have missed the saccharine edge to her voice. "Please, take as much time as you like. But do remember that the execution will occur at sunrise tomorrow."

Briar Rose was fairly certain that her mouth hung open for a second or two. She knew something must be amiss, but she hadn't any idea how to react. Surely Mistress Sara must know that Rose could release Maleficent from the Chains, and yet...if she didn't know, and Rose asked a stupid question just because she sensed that something was off, then perhaps she missed her one chance. Then again, perhaps what Rose was missing was something far greater, more sinister.

"Is there something else, Mistress Briar Rose?" Sara asked her, and this time, Rose was certain she could hear mockery dripping from the simple words.

"I...no," Rose decided as firmly as she could manage. "Thank you, Excellency."

Sara leaned back in her chair and spread her arms to rest on the sides, a clear indication of how utterly in control of the situation she was. "Happy to be of service," she replied lightly.

Two female good fae in blue uniforms stood guard at the door that led to the dungeon, but they each offered Briar Rose a courteous bow of their heads and wordlessly stepped aside to let her pass. Rose reached out to hold onto the wall as she descended the dark staircase, and with each step she felt her stomach sinking under the weight of her growing dread. Something was wrong.

It seemed a lifetime, or perhaps two since Rose had set eyes upon the heavy metal door that led to the dungeon proper. Even with the sconces on the wall freshly lit, the corridor was nearly consumed by shadow, but this time around, the door played at no illusion of being closed. It hung wide open, yet another layer of mockery Rose did not understand.

"A visitor?" Maleficent's voice called from the darkness. It was soft and low, but cold and harsh. A challenge to whoever might dare disturb her in her final hours. Rose remembered feeling that Maleficent's voice while imprisoned must be a mere echo of the power it could hold, and now that she knew this to be true—knew it just as surely as she knew her own name—it made her want to retch.

Maleficent appeared in much the same way she had before. First, there were bars. Then, a shadowy figure, regally seated, definitely in chains. It was as though she had a magnificent ballgown made of chains.

Rose had half a mind to turn back, to run upstairs and hide in her room and weep until the morning had passed. But she knew, more certainly than she knew anything else, that she must press onward. She must not be a coward any longer.

She stepped into the light.

"I might have known," said Maleficent. Rose's heart wrenched in her chest. All the harshness had fled Maleficent's voice, but so had all of the fire and the fury. More than anything, she sounded tired. Defeated.

Slowly, Rose reached out and through the bars, and she took the peculiar-looking Chains in her hands. She cried out in pain as she felt the magic instantly rent from her body, and she collapsed to her knees, panting. The Chains did not yield.

"It's a foolish sort of bravery you possess, Briar Rose," said Maleficent coolly. "If your people could see it, they would write poems about you."

Briar Rose's magic was slow to return, and the sensation of losing it once more frightened her more than she had imagined it might. "I am the worst kind of coward," she whispered.

"No," said Maleficent. "Despite having betrayed me and my allies, listing all of my crimes against you, and indicating how these have led you to wish death upon me, here you are meaning to free me. Foolish, to be certain. Perhaps a bit mad," she paused, sighed quietly. "But not cowardly."

Rose did not stand. She wasn't certain her legs would hold her. Instead, she shifted her weight off of her knees and leaned a hand against the bars of Maleficent's cell. "I knew something was off when Mistress Sara allowed me to come down here. She seemed so smug...I suppose I should be grateful nothing worse than failure befell me."

Maleficent let out a quiet half-chuckle. "Well, the night is young," she said, almost lightly.

Rose smiled, but the rush of happiness that accompanied the expression made her heart ache. "This is all my fault," she said with a heavy sigh. She hardly dared to look up into Maleficent's eyes, but when she managed it, she found that there was no coldness or hatred in them anymore. Defeat. Exhaustion. But not hatred. Perhaps she saw no point in it anymore.

"I am so sorry, Maleficent. For everything."

Maleficent's dramatic eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she contemplated Rose for a moment. "You know, I daresay you are the only person who has ever apologized to me for anything."

Without fully considering what she was doing, Rose reached through the bars once more, and she gently grasped Maleficent's hand. She was careful to keep her touch feather-light, but she remembered all too well what agony it had been for her to be touched while she was Chained. Maleficent tensed, but she did not pull away. Rose felt tears beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. There was nothing she could do. Maleficent was going to die because of her, just as though Rose had never freed her in the first place.

What had the last two years been, if they'd only wound up exactly where they began?

"I'd do it all again, you know," Rose breathed.

"All of it?"

Rose let out a choked sort of laughter. "Well. I'd like to think I wouldn't make such a colossal mess of things, given another chance."

Maleficent wrapped the overlong fingers of her hand around Rose's. "We can only make decisions based upon what we know, and upon who we are at the time."

"No, please, don't make excuses for me," Rose shook her head. "Because of me, Sara drew your party here, and without some sort of miracle, you'll all be dead by morning. Without you, Sara will win, and she'll wipe out the entire wicked fairy species."

"Not every last one of them, Rose," Maleficent replied. Rose's name upon Maleficent's lips made her shiver, and it pained her to know that she might never hear it again. "For better or worse, wicked fairies are forged for survival above all else. Some of them are bound to survive."

"And what? Continue to live this way?" Rose felt panic taking hold of her heart. "Hide themselves away from everyone for centuries, or censor themselves, always trying to get out of being tortured to death?"

Maleficent shook her head, and even this slight motion caused her chains to rattle ominously. Rose could not stop her tears from overflowing. She took Maleficent's other hand.

"To try again," said Maleficent firmly. "When one's lifespan can be measured in millennia, one realizes that there shall always be an ebb and flow of power, of the magical and the non-magical, the light and the dark, the righteous and the wicked, however they're called."

"Humans are forgetful in their transience," Rose echoed the line from Kinsale's book. And where was Kinsale now? Dead, or imprisoned? Might Rose find her in time to sit ineffectually at her side before her own execution? Perhaps Maleficent was unpredictable and volatile, but what kind of maddened fool had Rose been to doubt Kinsale's friendship?

"Nothing is eternal," said Maleficent. "Humans may seem transient to the fae, it's true. But it has become abundantly clear to me that fairies are thoughtless in their longevity."

Rose shook her head. She felt her face twisting with the effort required to subdue her tears. "How dreadful that I should outlive you!" she cried. "I cannot..." she swallowed, and steeled her courage to say aloud something she'd only ever thought silently before. "I cannot imagine a life, a world without you in it."

Maleficent's melancholy smile was sincere, and it surprised Rose into a kind of hollow calm.

"You lived sixteen years before you knew my name," said Maleficent quietly. "You'll live at least half a century more after I've died."

Rose met Maleficent's gaze as resolutely as she could. "I shall love you as long as I live," she said with a nod. "Perhaps I am transient. Perhaps I will die in half a century, or tomorrow. But to me, at least this one thing will be eternal."

Maleficent's smile fell, and she withdrew her hands. Rose wrapped her arms about her knees and did her best not to fall apart.

"I wish I'd asked you to teach me so many things," Rose began, without really thinking. "I wish I knew how to hypnotize people. I wish I could read good fairy spells, or throw myself across a battlefield in a swirling storm, or...oh, I wish I could shapeshift into a dragon!" She almost laughed. She could forget from time to time that Maleficent was a dragon, but whenever she thought about it, it made sense. The thought of herself as a dragon seemed so unfathomable to her, it was utterly absurd.

Amid her mad daydream, Rose caught sight of Maleficent's face and winced. She'd taken up that neutral mask she wore when she didn't wish to reveal herself, but Rose could clearly see the pain of loss in her dark eyes. "I'm sorry," Rose breathed. "I'd forgotten."

Maleficent closed her eyes, and Rose's window into her mind was obscured.

"We seldom lose things when we're prepared to part with them," said Maleficent quietly. "Perhaps there's no way of preparing for such a loss. I am comforted as I approach the hour of my death because I've expected it too many times before now. Thinking of life and death as they pertain to me leaves me numb. But shapeshifting..."

Maleficent allowed a tiny breath of a sigh to escape, and in it, Rose could hear the echo a thousand words Maleficent would never say...would never even have time to consider saying.

"Please," Rose breathed.  _Let me know a fraction of you before I lose you forever_. "Tell me something. Anything. How did you learn?"

"To shapeshift?"

"Yes."

Again, Maleficent closed her eyes. She took a shallow, shuddering breath, and it did nothing to assuage the exhaustion in her voice. "After I'd banished my mother, after our battle..." she began. "I was half-dead. I thought I would die. Even as I healed, as I stood and paced aimlessly about my home, as I...as I buried my sisters' remains, I thought I would surely die, or my mother would return and kill me."

As Maleficent continued, her face took on its usual neutral mask, and the anguish receded. "But when a wicked fairy takes ownership of the land, even if she is but a child, the elements protect her. All the spells my mother had placed upon our land to protect herself belonged to me then. I know now that my mother couldn't return if she tried. I had willed her away, and because I won it in battle, the Dragon Country shall bend to my will until the last breath escapes from my body."

All too soon, Rose thought. Even though Maleficent's eyes remained closed, Rose bowed her head to hide the way her face contorted with sorrow at the thought.

"At the time, I knew nothing of these forces," Maleficent continued. "My only objective up until that point had been to survive my mother's challenge. I had hardly dared to consider what might await me should I succeed. The Dragon Country was once rife with all manner of danger, but then, after I'd awoken, it was overtaken by a deadly silence. Now, of course, it follows logically. Adara's inner chaos was reflected in the land she owned. She imagined the world was out to get her, and so the land obliged."

Maleficent opened her eyes, but it made no difference. Although they sat not an arm's length apart, Maleficent was in another time now. Another world. "My inner chaos, on the other hand..." she began. "It was my solitude, my utter aloneness."

Rose noted with some irony that this must be the most Maleficent had ever spoken to her. There were so many things Rose wanted to know, about Maleficent and all the things she must know, but Rose had always felt that even if she asked, she would always receive some roundabout or insufficient answer. This...this felt like really knowing her. Really seeing her for the first time...and also for the last.

"I couldn't stay inside forever, of course," said Maleficent. "I've never been the type to lie low for very long. There was no sign of life as far as I could see, but there was a distant rumbling like thunder in the mountains."

"Dragons," Rose breathed.

"Hundreds of them," Maleficent breathed. "Perhaps thousands. I'd been around them before, of course, but never in their dens like that. Never on their grounds. They were...it was incredible, really. Such inherently dangerous creatures, to themselves and to others, and yet they lived and thrived in enormous communities. They didn't kill one another for sport, or for power..."

Maleficent closed her eyes once more. "At that time, a new litter had just recently hatched," she said, and a fraction of the tiredness left her voice. "I'd never seen dragonets up close, and they fascinated me. They bounded about like pups, huffed smoke and fire, and often left destruction in their wake. Their eyes were alight with their youth, and I saw that they were unafraid. Unafraid of anything. Of soldiers who marched up into the mountains to slay them, of maddened wicked fae whose protection came with conditions, and unafraid of themselves and the havoc they could wreak.

"I saw myself in their eyes," she said. "Not myself as I was then, certainly, but as I could be. I had survived my mother's challenge, and the world lay at my feet an endless sea of possibilities I'd never dared to consider. I could be something more than a frightened child. I could be a dragon of my own devising."

Maleficent opened her eyes, and she met Rose's awestruck gaze evenly. "And so I was."

Even without any physical description or personal experience, Rose felt as though she could see it. A dragon like the young one she had seen in the mountains, but bigger and powerful and magnificent and terrifying...

"I wish I could have seen it," Rose said, and she hadn't realized until her voice cracked that she had a few more tears left to cry. She closed her eyes. "Why didn't it work?"

"The Chains, you mean."

It wasn't a question, but still, Rose nodded and squeezed her eyes closed more tightly. The most Maleficent had ever spoken of her past, and this, the last night of her life! Why hadn't it worked!

"The first time you freed me, you had no knowledge of the magic within you," said Maleficent, almost gently. "Indeed, you denied it. Even by the time you were yourself a prisoner, there was no denying that you were a sorceress. It is wicked fairy magic the Chains can sense, and that is what you wield."

"Why did you let me win?" Rose demanded, suddenly overcome by another passionate rush of emotion. She'd been so furious during their battle that she'd nearly forgotten the way Maleficent had simply let down her shield and allowed Rose to hit her time and time again.

Maleficent was silent for a moment, and Rose heard only the faintest rustling of chains to indicate a sigh. "'I should have let you die,' you said to me," she breathed. "It's true. You should have."

Rose held her hands over her heart, but nothing could ease her pain now. Those were the words she had spoken, and this was the consequence she had wrought. "I can't bear the thought of it," she cried. "I feel as if...as if just now, this is the most you've ever spoken to me of yourself. And..." Rose swallowed, covered her face with her hands to stifle a sob, and did her best to get a hold of herself. "And I want to know more," she continued emphatically, and for the first time in several minutes dared to meet Maleficent's eyes. "I want to know everything."

Maleficent tilted her head in that piercing, studious way she once had before the time for contemplation had grown scarce, and even this minuscule mannerism was like another knife through Rose's heart. Now the time was scarcer than ever. It had nearly run out altogether.

"The last time I thought I would die, I was very worried about you," said Maleficent after a long silence.

These words stunned Briar Rose into a kind of stillness. She wasn't crying any longer, but her mind was blank, and could not seem to hold onto a single thought.

After a moment, though, Maleficent continued. "It drove me mad. I'd never worried about anyone before. I hadn't even the words to describe it. I think...I've never properly apologized for the way I behaved. It wasn't my intention to treat you like a child..." She frowned, pursed her lips, then added, "Especially not the way my mother treated me. I am truly sorry for that. It occurs to me that many unfortunate circumstances might have been avoided if I had placed a bit more faith in you."

Without really thinking about it, Rose reached out through the bars and lightly touched Maleficent's cheek. Maleficent's eyes widened, and they glittered with an emotion Rose could not readily name, but she did not snarl, and she did not flinch away, and so Rose did not withdraw her hand. "It's all right," she said. "I could say the same to you."

Something about Maleficent's expression softened, and the effect was overwhelming. Rose couldn't look away even if she wanted to.

"What I meant to say," Maleficent breathed, "was that I'm not worried about you any longer."

Rose offered her a tiny, lopsided smile. "That makes one of us."

Maleficent shook her head. "You didn't defend me to Sara," she said. "You held your tongue. She will underestimate you because you are young and human. You can escape this mess with your life and your magic. You can do anything you like now."

Rose's hand fell limp at her side, and she bowed her head. If she could do anything she liked, she would begin her mad adventure all over again. She would see new places and meet new and terrifying fairies, and she would have Maleficent by her side. Perhaps she could still travel the world and practice magic, but the thought left her feeling sick to her stomach. Something about it would feel so empty after not only Maleficent, but every wicked fairy who had taught her was dead, and Sara lived on.

"Kinsale and Zenovia were captured, too," said Rose to the floor. And where were they now? Already in the dungeons of the Sea Kingdom? Already dead?

"Sara has acquired access to Truth Serum since last we spoke," said Maleficent. "I expect she'll try to torture them a bit longer before she kills them."

"But why?" Rose cried. "What's the point of it? She's won, hasn't she?"

Maleficent sighed. "No victory will ever sate Mistress Sara. She will live her entire life in search of her next conquest."

"It was all for nothing, because of me." Rose began to weep anew. She felt as though her entire body were collapsing into itself. "You'll all be gone soon, and nothing will feel right ever again."

Maleficent's chains rustled, and Rose could see that she had attempted to reach out a hesitant hand. Maleficent, who never reached out to anyone, had attempted to reach out to Briar Rose.

"You have known such loss for someone so young," said Maleficent quietly.

"It's all my fault!" Rose shook her head miserably. "I can't make any of it right!"

"Perhaps..." Maleficent's dramatic brows furrowed, and she closed her eyes before she continued to speak. "Perhaps everything will...feel wrong...for a time. But not forever. Even fairies in their longevity are made to adapt to the ever-changing world. So shall you adapt."

Rose turned wide, shimmering eyes upon Maleficent. "I shall miss you every day of my life," she said plainly.

Maleficent's lower lip twitched, and Rose imagined she might see the faintest sparkle of wetness in her black eyes. "Not forever, Rose," she said, and her hoarse voice sounded even more choked than before. "Please, not forever."

Briar Rose knew she could not promise to forget Maleficent, and so, instead, she reached through the bars once more and gently placed her fingertips atop Maleficent's. She leaned her forehead against the bars and closed her eyes. "Tell me more about being a dragon," she whispered. "Was it easy to do once you'd learned?"

Maleficent was silent for a moment, but then she began to speak, and her voice took on...perhaps not an easier quality, but there was an echo of something like happiness about it, and this brought Rose's weary heart some small comfort.

"For a time, it was easier than my natural form," said Maleficent. "The thoughts and emotions of dragons are simpler than those of a fairy or a human, and at the time, I found that to be very appealing. All of my terror and confusion and paranoia melted into fiery rage, and as a dragon, I had a very obvious outlet for that."

"And you could fly?"

"And I could fly," Maleficent agreed. "Many wicked fairies can approximate flight, but we all lack the wings of the good fae."

"Why do you suppose that is?" Rose wondered.

"Difficult to say precisely. The disparity between good and wicked fae began as more of a mindset than anything else," Maleficent said. "A few millennia ago, when the fae began to divide themselves in this manner, either the ones who followed the beliefs of those who are now called wicked were always primarily wingless, or they became thus. By choice, or by force, I imagine no one could tell you. Wicked fairies have a nasty habit of dying young."

Rose squeezed her eyes closed more tightly, willed away the crushing reality of that statement. "What did you do after you became a dragon the first time?" she asked instead.

Maleficent rewarded her question with a low chuckle, as warm as her voice ever sounded. "I flew away, of course."

 _Flew away. Freedom_.

Freedom from her childhood home, from the painful memories she held there, from the tiny shackles on her bedroom wall and the graves she'd made for her sisters and the fear that her mother would return.

"Where did you go?"

"For a few weeks, or perhaps months, I went wherever the wind took me. I flew with other dragons, or by myself, or as far in any direction as I could go. Once, when I returned to myself, it occurred to me to go  _somewhere_ rather than anywhere, and that was when I sought out Mistress Zenovia."

"For training?" Rose asked her.

"Zenovia was still very well-known as a skilled dueler and tactician in my youth. She has done a very thorough job of reshaping her reputation over the years, but at the time, she was seen as dangerous and radical."

Rose frowned. "And you wanted her to teach you because of that?"

"I wanted to survive," said Maleficent. "Zenovia was the only public figure I could conceive of who would frighten my mother, who was the epitome of power in my mind. It made sense to seek training from her."

"Zenovia doesn't seem..." Rose paused. She wasn't sure what she wanted to say. To be certain, Zenovia wasn't what the average person might consider friendly, but neither was Maleficent, and Kinsale's friendliness came with a terrifying dose of moral ambiguity. But she did remember that Zenovia had only ever taken one student. At the time, that information had made sense—of course Maleficent would be an exception. But now that she thought of it with a clear head, it was surprising Zenovia had taken any student at all. "Well," she continued at last, "you were very young at the time, weren't you? How did you convince Zenovia to take you on?"

"I heard a rumour that we had something in common," said Maleficent.

"What was that?"

"We'd both bested our mothers in combat."

Rose opened her eyes. "Zenovia, too?" she breathed. She didn't know why it should surprise her, and yet, when she thought of her own mother, she could scarcely even imagine one tyrranical figure who would threaten her own children with death, let alone two.

Maleficent considered Rose for a moment, and then said quietly, "Zenovia once told me she wondered whether wicked fairy mothers felt a death at their own hands would be more merciful than Sara's torture. A twisted form of shielding their children from the cruelty of the outside world."

This concept made Rose want to collapse into herself and weep once more, but she resisted. She tried to think of any response at all and came up with none. Instead, she simply asked, "Do you think that's true?"

"I don't think it's a conscious thought," Maleficent said. "Perhaps it's a notion that's made its way into the very mettle of our kind over the centuries. If you're referring to the literal comparison of the two..." Something about her neutral expression faltered, and she averted her eyes. "The worldly conception of motherhood seems somehow inescapable, however it's contorted. One expects cruelty from one's enemies. Cruelty from those who oughtn't to be enemies, even though it might be exactly the same in the literal sense, is somehow infinitely more difficult to endure."

Again, it occurred to Rose in the form of a painful tug upon her heart that she was seeing more of Maleficent than she ever had, and ever would again. For all of her insistence that it was in the past, that it didn't matter, that she was made for survival above all else...even that she had spent her youth knowing full well what would befall her, a small part of Maleficent still felt her mother's betrayal.

Was there any way to be free of this? Must these past wrongs committed against them, yesterday or a century ago, haunt them until the day they died?

 _Freedom_.

_Fly away._

Briar Rose was running out of time. Time to spend with Maleficent, and time to think of some way—any way, no matter how absurdly unrealistic, to save her. She thought of what Kinsale had said to her what felt like forever ago, when she'd told her the story of Joy and Terra.  _It's often said that wicked fairies are incapable of understanding love_ , she'd said, with the kind of heavy melancholy in her voice that betrayed her personal connection to the words.

_I don't think that's true. I think it takes us a little longer. And usually we aren't afforded that kind of time._

Terra had spoken in Acacia's favour at her trial. She'd done it to reach out to Joy, and she'd been sentenced to death. Rose wondered how Joy must have felt then, whether she'd been allowed to sit at Terra's side before the hour of her execution, or whether she'd spent Terra's final hours fighting for her own survival. Rose wondered whether Joy had spent the rest of her life feeling the way Rose felt now.

You can escape this mess with your life, Maleficent had said to her. You can do anything you like now.

Because Rose had held her tongue. She'd bought herself some time. But she was not Maleficent, or Kinsale, or Zenovia. She was not a master logician or a powerful fairy or even a person who had lived a long time and knew a lot about anything at all.

Who was she?

Was she sweet and simple and kind-hearted? Was she half-mad and driven by rage and grief? Was she a fool and a coward? Or could she, perhaps, just for one instant, be clever and brave? Could she find a way to make the last two years matter? She couldn't make a passive choice this time around. Maleficent's life hadn't fallen haphazardly into her hands; she had placed it there. She had to find a way to free her prisoner.

Freedom. Fly away. Fire cannot kill a...

Well, it was a mad idea, to be certain. It probably wouldn't work, even if she could pull it off. But Briar Rose was running out of time. Perhaps, just this once, she could use her foolhardy sort-of bravery for something good.

And if she failed, then she would die a noble death. She would not live the rest of her life pretending she did not believe that Maleficent and Kinsale and Zenovia and the other wicked fairies she'd never met, who might be dreadful or who might be just as terrifyingly wonderful as the three she'd come to know and love, deserved to live. She would not spend her transient human life pretending that she believed that those words, good and wicked, were simple and finite and encompassed all a person or a fairy was or ever could be.

"I have to go," said Rose suddenly. She thought of the Truth Serum, and she thought of the way Maleficent seemed to read her mind sometimes, and she knew she must act upon her plan immediately, or else stay here until Maleficent was dragged away to her death, and spend the rest of her life a prisoner of her own passivity.

 _I am not here_.

"Rose?"

_I am not here._

"Yes?"

_I am not here..._

"I..."

_I am not..._

Rose's mind and body froze, and she met Maleficent's burning eyes. For one beautiful, terrible, glorious moment, Briar Rose could see Maleficent's soul shining clearly in her eyes. She felt herself beginning to cry, for suddenly she did not need to hear the words Maleficent struggled to speak to her, surely believing they would be her last. She knew. She felt it.

She remembered her mother's words, the ones that had given her such dreadful and disastrous doubt. She'd insisted that Maleficent cared for her, even if she didn't show it in a way that was easy to understand.  _Could you live with that?_  the Queen had demanded.  _Could you live with that troubled, unknowing care for however long it might last?_

"It's okay," said Rose in the present, and she mustered the best smile she could manage. "You don't have to say it." One last time, Rose reached through the bars, and she gently laced her fingers with Maleficent's. "I can feel it."

Maleficent's eyes grew heavy-lidded, and her grip on Rose's hand was firm even as Rose could see sweat beading on her brow. Her cascading chains rustled ominously, but the sound felt distant.

_I am not here._

Briar Rose watched as her hand faded and Maleficent's hand remained, watched as Maleficent bit her lip and furrowed her brow, and watched as she bowed her head in defeat.

 _I am not here_ , thought Briar Rose.

 _I am in the Dragon Country_.

* * *

_Live, die, live, die..._

Nothingness.

In a way, death would be a relief.

A part of Maleficent would have liked to fight the Mountainland Fairies who led her to her execution, simply on principle, but she saw no point in it, nor even any sport. Of course Sara wanted her to beg for death, but now she was to be executed in front of the Eastern Kingdom, and a good portion of the North who'd dragged themselves here in the dead of night to see her off. These humans had wanted her dead long before she'd warranted their malice, and it was for their benefit that she would meet her end with dignity. She would show them, for what little it was worth, that they...

...that  _no one_  had ever broken her spirit.

Perhaps if she looked menacing enough whilst being burnt at the stake, she'd give the Three Kingdoms nightmares for another century or two.

Briar Rose, filled to overflowing with her naive and tragically wondrous bravery, had thought of some last resort, some miraculous and minuscule loophole in the veritably black and white contract that was Maleficent's execution sentence. Maleficent rather hoped she wouldn't get herself into any irrevocable trouble.

But Briar Rose was stronger now. She could fend for herself against any number of perils. With any luck, she would make a lovely life for herself in what remained of the world once Maleficent and Kinsale and Zenovia were gone. Her people would adore her. She would soon make new and less controversial companions, take up happier hobbies than deceit and destruction.

Then someday, in a year or two, or perhaps five, if she were truly distraught, Briar Rose would find someone new to love.

Yes, Maleficent could see it now. Some strapping young man with a handsome face and a kind heart would come striding into the Eastern Kingdom, or Rose would come across him in her travels. He would be utterly smitten with her, of course. Who wouldn't be? He would court her properly, and slowly, so slowly, Briar Rose would realize that love did not have to be tortured and troubled and complicated. It could be simple and pure and good.

Love was all the things Maleficent was not.

There weren't as many people in the streets here as there had been in the Sea Kingdom, of course, but the effect was oddly even more unsettling. These humans did not blur together into a faceless crowd; Maleficent could see each and every one of them, individually, expressions twisted in disgust or terror or pompous glee as they watched her pass. She felt as though, in this moment, she knew each and every one of them. She could see everything they were feeling, everything they were thinking about her, written across their faces and shining in their eyes.

She lifted her chin higher and focused on the path ahead of her.

The set-up was almost picturesque, really. A proper stake, situated high above the crowd, surrounded by Mountainland Fairies and other good fae who were not in uniform, but wore the signature blue that had become associated with Sara's disciples.

Maleficent wondered as she climbed the steps what the first of the good fae had been like. What had their ideals been, countless lifetimes ago, before they'd turned into harbingers of their own twisted justice? Would Maleficent ever have agreed with any one of them?

"Mistress Maleficent of the Dragon Country and the so-called Forbidden Mountain," came Sara's high, piercing voice from some unknown distance over Maleficent's shoulder—from where the royal family must be sitting...but Maleficent did not dare look just yet. "For your crimes against human and fae alike, you are hereby sentenced to death."

The guards would not undo Maleficent's Chains. Even one ounce of freedom, of her magic, and she could escape in any number of ways—they knew that. They bound her to the stake by her ribcage, by her ankles, and finally, by her neck.

"May the Eastern Kingdom and the countless other human Kingdoms on this earth who have incurred the wrath of your wicked ways at long last know peace upon your passing. May this entire world know a Golden Age of Prosperity when your kind are eradicated from the miserable excuses you make for existence, forevermore."

The crowd erupted into cheers, and at last, they began to blur and mesh into one mass of white noise in Maleficent's mind. She turned her eyes skyward and did her best to think of some closing thoughts, some trite summation of the relatively few years she had spent on this earth.

She thought of her youth, of the sisters she'd loved in whatever vague, uneasy way she'd been able. She thought of lovely, fiery Seraphina and of timid, youthful Acacia. She thought of her mother, the way she'd flown from one extreme to another, from manic fury to quiet despondency. She thought of her mother's footsteps in the hall when she'd been chained to her bedroom wall for weeks on end, and she thought of how she'd wanted to love her mother, anyway—how she'd been unable to strike the killing blow Adara would have gladly dealt her—simply because she was her mother.

She thought of her time with Zenovia, the excruciating pain Zenovia had inflicted upon her, and the way it somehow hadn't hurt her even half as much as the pain her mother has caused, because she'd expected it of Zenovia—indeed, she'd asked for it. And through Zenovia's strict tutelage, she had learned to overcome it.

She thought of all the time she spent as a dragon, all the dreadful, anxious times she'd spent traveling with male fairies, and of the note Kinsale's dove had somehow managed to send to her, inviting her to a party. She thought of the way she'd felt when she'd first seen Kinsale. Kinsale was beautiful, healthy, lavishly dressed and glowing. Maleficent was dirty and awkward and terrified, but somehow, Kinsale had seen past all of that, and Maleficent had adored her all the more for that.

She thought of the lonely, miserable years she'd spent after leaving Kinsale, the way she'd loathed herself for being unable to give Kinsale even a fraction of what Kinsale had so easily given her. She thought of the abandoned castle on the southernmost tip of the far west peninsula, still rank with the stench of fallen humans in battle, overrun by carrion birds. The place had called to her—it and she were very alike, she'd thought at the time. They were both dismal, overwrought with destruction, and best left alone.

She thought of the way the guests at Princess Aurora's christening had looked at her. It occurred to her that this must be the utter antithesis of that day. On that day, Maleficent had held all the cards. Cards far older than Mistress Sara, or even Cordelia of the Sea were on her side that day: Queen Leah had initiated a bargain with Maleficent, and the queen had not followed through on her end of the deal. If Maleficent had enacted her revenge on that day—if she hadn't indulged her affinity for beautiful and carefully-crafted cruelty—she wouldn't have been culpable by fairy law, and no human could have touched her, of course.

Faintly, Maleficent heard the crackling of flames, and as the straw around her feet caught fire, she became vaguely aware of the intensity of the heat, the sudden thickness of the air.

She'd been proud; a bit haughty, perhaps, but it had been purely reactionary. The foolish queen was dealing with forces far beyond her ken, and she and her plain-faced king dared treat Maleficent as though she were the one overstepping her bounds. She snarled even remembering the disgust and the fear on their sniveling faces.

In the present, she turned her menacing scowl upon the crowd of gleeful faces who watched her burn. Poor, simple fools. They believed in their human transience that this was the end.

And perhaps, for them, it would be. But what of their children's children? For many centuries, these three kingdoms had been spared fairy matters, but now, Mistress Sara was intimately aware of this place. As Maleficent had told Briar Rose, Sara would never be contented. Whatever it was she told herself, after a century or so of peace and prosperity, she would long once more for a chance to call upon the idiot devotion of her disciples. And what better way to do that than to unite them against a common enemy?

Maleficent hadn't yet dared to look in Sara's direction, but now she did just that, with as cool an expression as she could manage. Her face felt flushed and sweaty, and breathing did not come easily. Mistress Sara stood exactly where Maleficent knew she would be, to the right of King Stefan, who sat to the right of Queen Leah. And on the queen's other side stood...

Maleficent began to cough, and she found that she could not stop, or catch her breath. Her eyes began to water, and she ceased to contemplate anything. She focused her efforts on keeping her eyes open and trained on the sky. She would not...would not...what?

Why did it matter?

Her thoughts were foggy. She couldn't breathe.

Eyes open. Don't show then your weakness.

Briar Rose. Hair falling all about her shoulders in a wild, golden mess. Still wearing the same tattered dress. Radiantly beautiful even though she was crying. Maleficent could not bear to look at her any longer. She turned her eyes to the sky once more.

_Live, die, live, die..._

_Do not weep for me forever, Briar Rose_ , Maleficent thought.

Through bleary eyes, Maleficent saw something amiss in the bright blue sky above her. She couldn't quite wrap her hazy mind around what it might be, but something told her it was important...important enough to...to...

So much smoke. Sara had used magical flames before. There hadn't been any smoke.

Flying. Something flying. Awkward, haphazard...searching, perhaps.

 _Go away from here_ , Maleficent thought. Surely this was no place for anything that flew that way.

Maleficent's vision blurred and she had to close her eyes when she coughed. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She imagined she could hear nothing but thunder in her ears...the hissing and crackling of the flames, the roaring of the crowd below her, Sara spewing more nonsense, her own raspy, wheezing breath between fits of uncontrollable coughing. None of it mattered. Maleficent imagined a glorious thunderstorm in their stead.

A horrible, piercing shriek. Prehistoric, visceral, painful to the ears and perhaps even the heart, and yet...

The mystery flyer had let out that terrible noise, and now the crowd below her was screaming. Or perhaps Maleficent was screaming. She was screaming inside her head. Her feet and her legs must have caught fire by now. She felt she would lose consciousness soon.

 _Live, die, live, die_...

Maleficent squeezed her eyes closed and then forced them open. It took her several seconds to comprehend what she saw and what she heard, and even as she did, she wasn't entirely certain this wasn't some mad hallucination in her final moments.

Hovering a short distance above her was a dragon. Small, adolescent, and awkward in flight. Fatigued, too. He all but collapsed in a heap of limbs and wings at Maleficent's feet, and he took several deep, haggard breaths. Even as she thought her entire essence must be overwrought with agony, Maleficent found it in her to smile—a twisted, tearful grimace of an expression—at the sight of the dragonet, who had grown so much since last she'd seen him. The fire and the smoke didn't faze him, of course. Fire couldn't kill a dragon.

The brief flash of happiness wasted precious energy, and Maleficent gasped for air where there was only smoke. Again, she squeezed her eyes closed and forced them open, demanded some clarity amid the tears and the stinging of the smoke and the spots of darkness beginning to overtake her vision. As she met the dragonet's shining black eyes, she could see her life flashing before her unbidden...and somehow each snippet began to mean something to her again. Just as she had before, she experienced the terror, the determination, the searching, endless searching, and  _live, die, live, die_  once more held weight in her heart.

To die would be never to know what might come.

The tightness in her chest receded, and the bittersweet future Maleficent had crafted in her mind's eye began to fade away. In its place lay innumerable possibilities.

Perhaps she had lost her ability to shapeshift...for a time. Perhaps she had been stripped to the very barest bones of herself. That was what these Chains were made for, after all. But her greatest weaknesses were not the summation of herself.

Maleficent could not only endure. She could achieve more than mere existence. She could grow and change, just as she had when she was a child.

The clattering of the Chains of Avasina as they fell from their prisoner's wrists brought Maleficent back to reality, but she felt no fear, nor even surprise.  _Of course_ , she thought simply.

These chains were not made to hold a dragon.


	29. The Fire

Sara had never considered herself an emotional fairy, by any stretch of the imagination. If pressed in this moment to describe the sensation churning in her stomach and boiling the blood in her veins, she wouldn't have been able to offer up a comprehensible response. Simultaneously, the edges of her vision blurred while the focus intensified. Her mind raced, but was also very calm. Her hands clenched and her muscles tensed, but she felt paralyzed.

The dragon that was Maleficent and the adolescent who had freed her flew away, each weak and awkward and clumsy in its own way, but of course no one would even think to attempt to apprehend a dragon, let alone two. Sara could see that they were no force to be reckoned with, but these people hadn't dealt with dragons in generations. Perhaps some of them had begun to believe that dragons were nothing but a silly fairy's tale.

Again, her vision blurred as she felt a surge of something unidentifiable from the very core of her being. She felt flushed, perhaps dizzy. Her fingers tightened their grip upon her staff. She had partially taken to the use of a staff, usually a wicked fairy's item, because of its surprising magical advantages, but in this moment she found that she needed to lean her weight on the thing for support, lest her knees should buckle beneath her, her wings fall limp upon her back.

The people were in an uproar—an awfully loud one for how few of them had survived the battle. Most of them ran amok like idiots, as though they thought anything could save them, should those dragons have meant to attack. That was the trouble with dragons: they destroyed everything.

The guards appeared to usher the royal family to safety, and a few went down into the crowds in a feeble attempt to mollify them. Fools. The danger had passed for now, of course. The dragons were gone, weren't they? They'd return when they'd regained their strength, and there would be no hope for the people of this kingdom then.

It was a shame. Sara imagined she would feel a bit sadder if she weren't so preoccupied with pinning down whatever emotion was overtaking her now. The Eastern Kingdom, as it now called itself, wouldn't perhaps make the best example to the world, but it also wouldn't be the worst. People had heard of their little lost princess, after all. They would feel sad when she died at the hands of an evil fairy, if nothing else.

Blur, focus.

"You know, Briar Rose," said Sara at last, for it had just occurred to her that Briar Rose still stood beside her, looking as paralyzed as Sara felt. The notion relaxed Sara significantly. "There are very few dragons left in the world."

"I know," Briar Rose replied quietly, eyes trained on the horizon.

"The only remaining population is in the Mountainlands," Sara continued evenly. "Do you know what colour their scales are?"

Still no reaction. "No."

"Bright green," Sara told her. "No variations. That dragon," and with an arm that felt heavy like lead, Sara indicated the direction the dragon had fled, "was from the Dragon Country."

This got Briar Rose's attention. She turned wide, youthful eyes on Sara, and the sensation of being studied so intensely by a human girl was nothing short of infuriating. "I thought you said the only—"

Sara cut her off crisply. "I did."

Briar Rose opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, then closed it again. She had an uncommonly lovely face for a human. Her beauty was undeniable, even when she clearly hadn't slept or bathed since the battle. How could she have done? She'd had a long night of traveling.

"I personally eradicated the dragon population from the Dragon Country nearly a century ago," Sara continued. "While I find it surprising that a dragon survived my spell," she inclined her head pointedly, "I find it still more surprising that someone thought to alert said dragon to the danger of its mistress."

Clear, recognizable emotions flashed across Briar Rose's expressive eyes: surprise, sorrow, terror. Sara wondered whether this was what Maleficent, a cold-hearted wicked fairy with no concept of such simplicity, had found so captivating about her. Sara personally found it disgusting.

"It was very clever," said Mistress Sara with a tight smile. "I've never encountered a human who could surprise me. With that in mind, however, be aware that I have ways of acquiring a confession."

But Briar Rose surprised Sara yet again. "I couldn't let her die!" she cried, without further provocation.

One could find the same blind optimism in human infants. Tragic, really. "Even after everything she has done?" Sara wondered. "To you, personally?"

"She still doesn't deserve to die," Briar Rose insisted. "And neither did those dragons."

Again, Sara was overcome by a white-hot flash of that unidentifiable something emanating from her heart. She felt at once that she might rip open the girl's throat or faint dead away. "Perhaps," she said through clenched teeth, "you would like to tell that to the hundreds of thousands of innocent humans dragons have killed."

"Dragons are dangerous!" Briar Rose fought back, but the words were more or less incoherent garble to Sara. "You would kill a beast because of his nature?"

"The sanctity of life is to be valued above all else, Briar Rose?" Sara chuckled incredulously. She could scarcely believe she was engaging in this tiresome old argument with a human—she'd hardly tolerated it from the Fairy Queen, herself. Still, Sara couldn't simply kill Briar Rose; not yet, not without some planning and an acceptable scapegoat—too many people liked her. Identified with her, even, the poor, sentimental simpletons. Anyway, what better had she to do now that she'd gotten herself tangled up in this mess than to see it through?

"Who are you, o insignificant creature, to decide who should live and who should die? A dragon lives and millions perish; a wicked fairy lives and who knows what shall befall your kingdom?" she sighed, but it was an affected mannerism, a show of mock-concern. She needed to solve this matter diplomatically, if possible. "The reality is that this world of yours would be safer without the lot of them, dragons and wicked fairies."

Briar Rose balled her delicate little hands into fists and awarded Sara what must be her mightiest glower. "This world would be safer without people like you!" she cried.

Blur, focus.

A talented sorceress with the personality of an insolent child. It would not do to let her go off on her own now, idiot though she might be. After all, Briar Rose had knowingly freed a dangerous prisoner. She had believed she could defeat Mistress Sara, of all people!

It was almost funny. Sara let out a small, strangled sort of a laugh, and she shook her head. "You poor, simple little fool," she uttered quietly.

At long last, Sara's pulsing muscles did spring into action. In one fluid motion, she grasped Briar Rose about the waist and thrust the both of them up into the morning sky. Briar Rose screamed, but none of the humans on the ground paid the noise any mind—they were still concerned with the departure of the dragons several minutes ago, with counting their own dead and wounded, and with whatever other trivial matters humans went on about for eighty-some years.

As she allowed them both to disintegrate into nothingness, Sara wondered idly whether Briar Rose, formerly the Princess Aurora, had ever truly been abducted from this place, or whether her foolish adoration for dangerous menaces to the world as she knew it had led her to choose for herself a path of destruction.

* * *

Briar Rose came into existence in fragments.

For some indeterminate amount of time, she was merely aware of herself as some vague idea of existence, some suggestion of it. If someone were to ask her, were there any of her to ask, whether or not she existed, she would respond,  _I don't know_. All things considered, however, Briar Rose had spent a great deal of her life over these past few years wondering who exactly she was, or whether she was anyone at all. The state of existential self-doubt was neither alarming, nor even novel to her.

When Rose felt anything at all, it was fuzzy. Tingly. She was materializing as though made up of grains of dirt, or perhaps of sand—though Rose had never been to a beach, so she did not precisely know what sand was like. Gradually, she became aware of her body, her face, the beating of her heart, arms, hands, legs, feet...

And of course, her captor.

Rose felt profoundly disoriented. She blinked several times, reacquainted herself with the function of her eyes, and still saw very little. This inability to gauge her surroundings, far more than the prospect of not existing, unnerved her.

She concentrated instead on her other senses. She could feel what she knew was Mistress Sara's muscular arm firmly about her waist, holding her off the ground as though she were nothing. She wasn't certain which way was up or down, only that her body was not in its usual orientation. She could hear Mistress Sara saying something, but her ears could not make sense of the sound. She could smell something dreadful, a mixture of old fire and...something Rose could not name. Something from battlefields. Something she avoided thinking about, went to great lengths to block completely from her mind.

Death. This place smelled like death.

This realization sent Rose's mind reeling with the sudden clarity of abject terror, and she shied far, far away from the thought. She grasped for something that might be innocuous by comparison, some immediate concern, less ultimately important, but also less likely to drive her mad.

How had they gotten here, wherever here was? "How did you do that?" Rose choked out the words, as though she'd also forgotten how to use her vocal cords during the time they'd been disembodied. The sound was nothing like her voice—it was dry, cracked, difficult. She felt winded and nauseated simply from speaking.

Rose found herself suddenly upright, back against some kind of hard surface, wrists and ankles bound by cuffs of metal. In the dim lighting she could just barely see the outline of Mistress Sara a few steps away from her. Though Rose had only just now learned what Mistress Sara looked like, she felt the image was already seared into her mind. She felt she would recognize any part of Mistress Sara anywhere, under any circumstances.

"The wicked fae are more self-absorbed than I had imagined," Sara said lightly. "All the tricks they've come up with to simulate that which comes naturally to the righteous fae, and it never occurs to them that a good fairy might do the same? Instantaneous travel can be very useful. Though of course you already know that, Briar Rose."

Rose had no response, nor was she eager to try speaking again just yet. She closed her eyes and tried yet again to orient herself.

"Then again, I suppose your exposure to the righteous fae is somewhat limited."

Some visceral instinct in Rose wanted to jump to the defense of her aunts, but the instinct died out quickly, just as it had in the early days of her acquaintance with Maleficent. Rose wondered, pointlessly, how she could so easily see when a defensive word about her aunts would do no good, but had still fought vehemently against anyone who dared say a negative word against her wicked fairy friends.

This rumination, though all but insipid given the direness of her current circumstances, spawned a rather more pertinent strain of thought than Rose's many personal shortcomings. "You speak ill of your fellow..." she frowned, decided upon borrowing Sara's turn of phrase, "righteous fae?"

The shadow of Sara inclined her head studiously. Even in near-darkness, Rose could feel herself being analyzed.

"What do you think this is all about, Briar Rose?" Sara wondered quietly. "Good and evil?" Something about her voice had changed completely—it was not quite so high and not nearly so piercing, yet something about these very factors made it even more powerful.

Rose considered this, and her head began to ache as she tried to conceptualize what exactly it was she believed.

She thought of her first meeting with Mistress Kinsale, the way she had been at once terrified and comforted, and the few fleeting words she had heard and comprehended spoken between Maleficent and Kinsale. Maleficent had been investigating the disappearance of her dragons, the bizarre absence of elderly humans in the nearby villages...  _Consider Mistress Sara_ , Kinsale had said.  _These days, she must always be considered._

As it turned out, Kinsale had been correct.

She'd had more to say, but Rose had been preoccupied by her own personal tragedy, and she didn't remember much of it. Kinsale had been so insistent upon playing the charming host that she'd said a great deal which was wholly unrelated to their reason for visiting, and Rose had been so easily swept away...

Quite some time had passed before Rose had learned that Kinsale believed Mistress Sara meant to wipe all wicked fairies from existence, and quite a bit more before she was able to wrap her mind around the notion. The idea had seemed to Rose unforgivably cruel. How could someone truly wish to erase an entire species from existence?

And why shouldn't Rose have allied herself with the wicked fae? Throughout her many tribulations, wicked fairies had been consistently kinder to Rose than had good fairies. Perhaps kinder wasn't the term; rather, they had consistently treated her...not as an equal, necessarily, but as a whole person. Not a thing, a pawn to be bandied about or locked away as it became convenient to them, but a person...a person who could be spoken to or argued with or condescended to or challenged or...or cared for, or not cared for. The specifics hadn't mattered so much as feeling like a  _person_.

And so, yes, in the end, Rose had believed that the war, in its grandest sense, was about right versus wrong. Of course, these things were not nearly as simple as Rose wanted them to be...as anyone wanted them to be. Of course there were innumerable complications and tragedies and traumatic events from which Rose was not certain she could ever recover, even if she managed somehow to live through this day, or even this moment. But somewhere deep inside, she did believe she was trying to do the right thing for someone. For Maleficent, or Kinsale, or Zenovia, or the countless wicked fairies she had never met...or even for herself.

Rose was silent in her contemplations for what seemed a very long time before Sara spoke again. "So many of us want to believe our intentions are good," she said, "from you, a weak and lowly human, to the Fairy Queen Titania."

Her words were chillingly specific, as though in direct response to Rose's thoughts. But years in the company of very intelligent and very intuitive fairies had taught Rose that Sara could not really hear her thoughts, but rather, Rose's thoughts on this matter—as on so many others—were predictable, and perhaps naive. They'd been thought before. Mistress Sara was prepared for them.

"We spend years, decades agonizing—is this the right thing?" Sara continued. "And then, afterwards, rationalizing—it must have been the right thing, for how else shall I ever sleep again?"

Too specific. Too piercing. Rose struggled against Sara's words. Reminded herself of what she'd been sure of only a second prior. Sara's words bore little more than the hollow echo of emotion—she'd said something similar many times before.

"Right and wrong, good and evil, it's all profoundly relative," said Sara.

But her voice had changed. It became at once lighter and weightier, and Rose was not certain which quality frightened her more.. Her words had already been difficult to resist, but now that her tone had changed to something more real, resistance was impossible. Rose was enthralled. Horrified, but enraptured.

"One would think you'd have realized it by now, with the company you've kept," Sara continued, "but perhaps with your frail human mind, you have only two choices. Perhaps you merely shifted your perception to the other extreme."

Rose felt furious and upset, and she wanted to argue her own defense, but her protests died long before the thoughts had even fully formed, drowned out by the plausibility of Sara's words. Was Rose so commonplace? Had her struggle truly occurred so many times before, such that a fairy could so easily counter her without even her barest participation in the actual conversation?

"In the end, it is most truthful, in the unchanging sense, to attend to one's own personal best interests. It so happens to be in mine that the human race be saved from the nuisance of wicked fairies, as of dragons before them. It is curious that our interests do not seem to align, and yet..." Sara tilted her head, still little more than a shadow in the dimly lit room.

"I am speaking plainly with you," Sara said, still in that quiet, light and weighty tone that made Rose shiver. "I ask that you do the same as we proceed. I should like to inquire, since it seems we are at odds with one another: what is your personal interest, Briar Rose?"

Rose closed her eyes, squeezed them tightly shut against the dim nothingness of the room and Sara's shadow studying her and the smell of death all around her. "What is yours?" she countered, but it was less of a challenge than a deflection. In truth, she could not even begin to conceptualize what her personal interest in this madness was, if she had ever had one.

"It is useful to be revered, Briar Rose," Sara replied. "Had you spent a bit more time as a beloved princess, you might have realized that. When one is revered, well-liked, one can attend to one's well-being much more easily than a person who is reviled."

"So the wicked fairies are reviled," Rose echoed. "But they're not purely evil, not innately wicked."

"Perhaps not," Sara agreed, to Rose's surprise. "But how do you expect to solve the problems they inflict upon the world, even if it be unwitting, or a product of mere circumstance. Wicked fairies are dangerous, not unlike, for example, dragons. Do you expect us to lie in wait of their next offense? Or would a preemptive strike not seem more efficient?"

Rose swallowed down a surprising rush of bile in the back of her throat. Efficiency? This was what the so-called leader of the Good valued above all else? "Do you really believe that?" she asked quietly.

Sara did not respond immediately, and her shadow shifted slightly. "Does it matter?" she wondered, by way of response. "Humans, the lesser good fae, meek and vulnerable creatures that they are, believe it, and I am capable of enacting it, with their aid. We remain useful to one another, and the wicked fae do not upend life as we have come to know it. You see around you a great war, Briar Rose, but relatively speaking, your time has known considerable peace, due in no small part to the eradication of powerful wicked fairies."

"Like Mistress Cordelia?"

Another small hesitation, but the response was firm. "Yes."

"So one wicked fairy went mad with power," Rose said, "so you ended her reign and everyone celebrated you. Why..." Why couldn't she stop? Why couldn't she see that it didn't matter what type of fairy she was, she, too, had gone mad with power just like the force she had risen to overtake? But these words did not come. They twisted and tumbled around one another in Rose's mind, and she was not certain she could muster the strength to speak them even if she managed to arrange them properly. "Why do you keep doing this?" she asked, instead. "Is it only the power?"

Suddenly Sara's sweet, unassuming face with her bright, piercing eyes was illuminated by a flame at the tip of her wand. It wasn't Maleficent's curious green flame—it was red and orange and yellow and Rose could feel heat emanating from it.

"Because," said Sara, and Rose could see a very pure, chilling sort of conviction shining in her eyes, "the world we live in is not yet safe. As long as wicked fairies remain, they will pose a threat. Now, Briar Rose, we have spoken quite enough about me. I ask you again: what is your infantile stake in this centuries-old conflict?"

Rose swallowed hard, and closed her eyes against Mistress Sara's serene visage. "I only want..." she began, trying in vain to think beyond her present circumstances, but the shackles upon her wrists and the pounding in her head kept her firmly in the present moment.

"I only want my freedom," she said at last. The word didn't feel like a revelation or even a relief anymore. It didn't burst forth from her lungs as though it had been trapped there for as long as she could remember. But it was what she had wanted from the beginning, was it not? The freedom to be herself, to do as she pleased, to forge her own destiny?

The flame at the tip of Sara's wand was extinguished, and what little of the world Rose had previously perceived was once more swallowed into near-darkness. Sara let out a half-hearted chuckle. "Freedom," she uttered, and Rose was surprised to hear no mockery in her voice. Instead, Sara sounded almost tired. Perhaps even wistful. "There is no such thing."

Of all the responses Rose might have expected, this was not a possibility. What was it Mistress Sara had, then, if not freedom? The freedom to live, the freedom to rule over her fanatical disciples, the freedom to decide who might die by her hand...

"Surely you can see in your current circumstances that freedom is itself a prison," said Mistress Sara. "We are all beholden to someone. You are beholden to your family, your royal duties, your people, your deluded notion of freedom, myriad other trivial matters, and currently, to me. I am beholden to the fairy queen, and she is beholden to her own internal vision of the sort of ruler she thinks she must be. None of us is truly unfettered."

"I suppose not," Rose snapped, "but your prison looks much nicer than mine! Did you ever fear your kind would be wiped from existence before you started a war across the entire world?"

Sara flinched. "I am  _not_  'my kind.'" These words were low, dark, cold.

"Then what are you?" Rose challenged. "Were you born of the sea?"

The silence that followed them felt somehow thick and heavy. Rose opened her eyes, but nothing had changed. Still she saw only the faintest shadow of Mistress Sara, unmoving, hovering not an arm's length away from her.

After what felt like an eternity, Sara spoke. "Putting an end to the reign of a wicked fairy is no easy task, you know," she said, almost airily. "Humans and the less educated of my own people..." a weighty pause, and the words that followed were harsher, more earthbound "that is to say, the fair folk...have devised a handful of haphazard rituals that will accomplish the task. Messy things, all mangled up in blood sacrifice and chance." She waved her hand dismissively, but it was a stiff, affected gesture, even in silhouette.

Despite her profession of relativism, Sara, too, seemed to move rapidly between absolutes, from eerie serenity to thinly-veiled rage and back again, so quickly that each shift made Rose's heart lurch. Rose was reminded of the way her former allies' fighting styles had betrayed so much about their inner selves.

"But fire will do the trick far more easily and far more reliably," Sara said, and this was a mixture of the two extremes, icy composure with a stormy undercurrent of imminent danger. "It takes a long time by earthly standards, certainly, but what has any of us if not time?" She tilted her head, chuckled softly. "Fire can take weeks to end the life of a member of the fae; however, a human..."

Once again Mistress Sara's face—her serene, heart-shaped face—was illuminated by a bright flame at the tip of her wand.

"Why, I have observed that a human can catch fire and die purely by accident."

A surge of terror shot through Rose, pulsing from her heart to the tips of her fingers, and she had the good sense not to cry out, or attempt to say anything else. Of course on one level she had known for several days that she would soon encounter Mistress Sara, and that she would not survive that encounter, but there was a difference between an abstract knowledge of one's impending death and the tangible reality of heat emanating from a flame.

Briar Rose had sustained innumerable injuries in recent memory. She'd been burned by miscast and unchecked fireballs countless times, usually on her arms or the palms of her hands. She could acutely remember the blistering pain, the faint sounds of her own screams echoing in her mind as though she weren't even present...and in a way, she hadn't been, out of her mind in agony, a hollow shell of a person whose only purpose was to find a way to bring her suffering to an end.

Zenovia's teaching method was brutal, perhaps even cruel, but the results were inarguable. Briar Rose had learned a great deal very quickly in the interest of self-preservation. She had sustained innumerable injuries in recent memory, but she had learned to heal them all.

Well, all except one. There remained for upwards of a year now a long, thin scar along the inside of Briar Rose's right wrist. Rose seldom looked at it or touched it if she could avoid it, but sometimes the fingers of her left hand made their way to the spot without her consent. She could clearly feel the faint unevenness of the tender flesh there, clearly see in her mind's eye both the scar and the way it had once gushed bright red, life flowing out of her like she had clung to its vestiges too long, like letting it go was a sigh of release.

"I was not born of the sea, Briar Rose, and neither was Mistress Cordelia." She spoke gently, as though to a child. "Neither of us is immortal or unending; however, it baffles me that someone so very transient by comparison sees fit to bandy about such a baseless comparison." Sara tilted her head again, and with this mannerism which Rose had only previously seen in shadows, Sara's icy eyes became heavy-lidded, almost lethargic as she studied her prey. "Do you deliberately court your own destruction, or do I merely bear witness to one haphazard blunder after another?"

The question was bizarrely apt, for Rose had often wondered the same thing herself, and yet fear had crowded many paths of logical thought from her mind. Rose's concentration was wholly fixated upon the matters of life and death, and how frequently she had hung in the balance between the two.

 _It is possible that there are worse fates than death_ , Maleficent had said to her once,  _but to die is never to know what might have been_. These words had haunted Rose for a time, when she'd seen Maleficent come back from the very brink of death, while she, herself, had nearly brought an end to her own miserable existence.

 _Much of magic hinges upon intent_...

So which was it, then? One disastrous misstep after another, or a genuine, if subconscious, desire to destroy whatever was left of herself, before someone else did it for her? Briar Rose had genuinely tried to rid herself of the scar on her wrist...hadn't she? She'd tried any number of spells on it, countless times, and while the wound had ceased feeling as though it might rip open anew at the slightest provocation, the scar had scarcely even faded.

"I don't want to die," Rose whispered. She hadn't realized she'd started crying.

"Truly?" Sara wondered airily. "Your foolhardy disregard for your fragile little existence heavily suggests otherwise."

The scar served as a physical reminder of a hazy, swirling expanse of time Rose was loath to remember. She realized suddenly that a part of her feared that without the physical reminder, she might force the experience from her mind entirely, along with the lessons it had taught her. At the same time...hadn't she stupidly accepted her mother's proposal, feeling that it was the only option? Hadn't she lashed out blindly and viciously at what she'd believed to be a random stranger, because she'd felt it was the only option? Just as her parents had done before her, Briar Rose had somehow convinced herself that the option right in front of her, easiest to see, was the best and therefore the only option available to her. She'd dealt only in extremes and absolutes, and failed to fully acknowledge the many, many ambiguities that fell between.

There was Good, and there was Evil, but those things were, as Mistress Sara and countless others had already pointed out, largely relative. What was good for one person was bad for another, and what seemed unforgivably cruel to one person might seem like the height of noble mercy to another, and each of these things might change drastically over the course of a day or less.

There was Love, and there was Hatred, but these things were by no means mutually exclusive. Briar Rose could acutely remember feeling utter hatred for Maleficent while still knowing, somewhere deep inside the very core of her being, that she loved her, had loved her for a very long time, could not remember what it was like not to love her.

There was Alive, and there was Dead, but in between those two there was a person who courted death because she felt she had nothing left to lose, and a person who clung to a miserable half-life for no other reason than because it was the only state of being she had ever known, because the familiar evil was vastly preferable to the abyss of uncertainty.

Once Rose had all but mocked death. What more could death take from her, really? She'd used it as an insult, even, and what had Maleficent said in response?  _You knew you weren't throwing your life away when you set me free_.  _You want to live. Not to survive, but to live._

"I don't want to die!" Rose sobbed, still helpless, but now with the tragic addition of genuine desire.

Sara's smile would have been sweet if not for the obvious rage burning in her eyes. "There are worse fates than death, Briar Rose."

White-hot pain began in her feet. The world turned a thousand colours all at once, and Briar Rose screamed and wailed and fought against her restraints, but the fire was steady and insistent and it only spread upward and outward until everything hurt, until Rose could no longer remember what it had been like not to feel pain, until her throat was raw from screaming, but she could not bring herself to stop, until she lost reason...

Then, suddenly, hollow nothingness, darkness, a nauseating echo where pain had been.

"Such fragile creatures, humans," Sara murmured.

Once Rose's breathing had more or less steadied, she choked out the foremost thought in her mind. "I thought you wanted to protect humans."

Sara chuckled lightly. "And foolish young thing that you are, you do not realize that this is the fate that so many humans suffered at the hands of those beasts you would protect."

... _hundreds of thousands of innocent humans dragons have killed_...

"What makes you any better?" Rose half-spat, half-sobbed.

Warmth flickered at Rose's feet, and she bit back a preemptive scream. She set her jaw and opened her eyes, and she looked at Mistress Sara as she awaited an answer. Her icy blue eyes were glazed over, no longer bearing any veneer of rationality. It was as though Sara were looking right through her.

"Unlike the dragon, the wicked fairy...and even the untrained human sorceress," Mistress Sara snarled, "my fire is not an accident."

Again, Rose's consciousness was overtaken by pain, and the only thing she seemed capable of doing was screaming and flailing ineffectually. The only clear thought that remained, inescapable, as though seared into her mind, was that the way Mistress Sara looked at her now must have been how Rose looked when she had allowed her long-suppressed rage to overtake her.

This time, Rose couldn't say exactly when the impetus for the pain came to an end. She was faintly aware that she could hear her own voice sobbing plaintively in the stillness that surrounded her, but it felt far away, and she wasn't certain whether she wished to rejoin it.

"Please," she heard herself gasp. "I don't want to die!"

Sara's face, as though a faded picture in a book, two-dimensional and unreal, offered her a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Perhaps the wicked fae are your kind, after all," she said.

"Wh-what?" Rose's throat was dry and cracked and burned with every word she spoke. She needed water, but she knew only more fire would follow. Fire could not kill a dragon, but Briar Rose was only herself.

"The wicked fae value survival over all else," Sara told her. "Why, they are practically trained to plead for their lives since birth."

"Why?" Rose asked, almost pleading, herself, and she did not so much intone the word as her lips formed it, and some small whisper escaped from her body, like a breath of precious life she could scarcely afford to lose.

"Perhaps when one is inherently wicked, one fears death more than the righteous. We may gild ourselves in armour and accolades in this life, but who is to say what might befall us when we die?" Sara considered for another moment. "More practicably, how else would the wicked fae have lived for so long? No one else wishes a long life upon them, to be certain."

"I do," Rose said, as firmly as she could manage, and lifted her chin. "I cannot be the only one. I can tell you've spoken many of these words before."

Sara's eyes flashed dangerously, and she held her wand, still aflame, very near to Briar Rose's face. "No," she agreed quietly. "Not the only one. There will always be madwomen, radical thinkers. Acacia, Joy, Zenovia, Kinsale, Maleficent..."

Rose flinched. Sara's mirthless smile made a reappearance.

"But just as I have spoken these words many times before, so have I set each dissenter aflame until she surrendered her ineradicable desire to live and begged me to show mercy and strike the killing blow. So shall I see the end of each one who still lives." Sara withdrew her wand, but the flame did not ebb. "I would hesitate to deal with a mere human in such a manner, but you..." Again, her eyes flashed, and Rose's stomach lurched. "You would defend them to the death, wouldn't you?"

Rose set her jaw, and responded with a grim and silent nod.

This time, she could not say where the pain originated. Everywhere. Her body was exploding. It was being torn asunder, pulled apart and inside out. She begged for her life until she could no longer form words, no longer even form coherent thoughts.

She saw her life flash before her eyes in fragmented flashes, and she keenly felt as though each memory, once it had presented itself, would never return to her. This awoke a pain in her heart that nearly countered the steady flicker of flames against her skin. She fell slack in her restraints, and her screams turned to doleful wailing as she saw her three beloved aunties gathered around her, all of them alive and well and full of love and happiness, her favourite spot in the woods surrounded by her animal friends, the handsome boy in the woods who had so enchanted her, long before he had been forever tainted in her memory, and the dark fairy in chains whose freedom had become entwined with hers.

She saw Maleficent's childhood home and the baby dragon who was now a clumsy adolescent. She saw Kinsale in all her finery and Kinsale on the battlefield, worn and tired, but still with an odd, troubled kind of warmth Rose had never quite understood. She saw Zenovia the cold, cruel battlemaster and Zenovia the hesitant friend and mentor. She saw battlefields filled with blood and gore and death, and she saw quiet, anxious night spent in makeshift tents, when the sky was still bright with the garish remnants of battle and sleep did not come easily if it came at all, but she felt somehow a part of something, somehow truly present even as she wasn't even certain of who she was.

Finally she saw Maleficent, with whom her existence was in so many ways hopelessly interwoven. She saw Maleficent, her saviour, and Maleficent, the wicked fairy who would kill her, and suddenly, she realized that it didn't matter whether both or neither was true. Maleficent meant everything to Rose. She had allowed Rose to pursue her own adventure, to carve out her own life in this world, rather than to be relegated to a side character, or even a prop in her own story. Whatever Maleficent had done, whatever she had wished to do, her importance to Briar Rose did not change.

Briar Rose had hated Maleficent, and she had loved Maleficent. Her birth and her death had hinged upon Maleficent at least a dozen times, and so it seemed only fitting that Maleficent's was the last face she saw before the world went bright white.

Perhaps Sara had been right, in a way. Perhaps death was the only true freedom. But Briar Rose did not wish for death. For the first time, perhaps in her entire life, she knew with absolute certainty that she wanted to live.

The ringing in her ears drowned out her hoarse screams, and the agony in her heart and all over her body expanded, exploded, until it was at once everything and nothing.

Darkness. Silence. Stillness.

* * *

Mistress Zenovia was a rather unmistakable person, even sitting in a heap upon the floor and covered in chains.

"Release her at once," Queen Titania commanded, but her eyes did not waver from Zenovia. She felt oddly shaken, seeing this woman in Chains once more. The first time had been such a disastrous mistake, and Zenovia had ostensibly spent the time between then and now trying desperately to keep her head down despite her once-radical reputation. That she should be here once more felt strangely like a personal defeat, like someone Titania vaguely knew and connected with—perhaps a character in a story—had been defeated, and Titania felt as though it were her defeat, as well.

Titania had received word of Sara's intention to stage a battle in the Eastern Kingdom early yesterday morning, from a spy she had placed in Sara's ranks shortly after their last conversation. While Titania would not directly involve herself with a war on Earth, she had made it abundantly clear that Sara was not to concern herself with the Princess of the Eastern Kingdom any longer. Sara was strangely paranoid regarding the Princess Aurora, who called herself Briar Rose, and this would not be the first time that a fairy who had lived a few centuries had forgotten the fragility of the humans she was bound by duty to protect.

Titania's arrival had been greeted by mass confusion. The human King and Queen of the East were beside themselves. Their daughter had been taken from them yet again, and none but a few raving soldiers seemed to know anything about the princess's disappearance. They claimed she had been abducted by the great Mistress Sara. No one would believe them, of course, but with no other dissenting opinion, theirs must eventually be given some small credence.

In the present moment, Zenovia stood on shaky legs, and breathed a long sigh as her Chains were removed. She caressed her wrists surreptitiously before opening her eyes and readorning her usual stony demeanour. "My Queen," she said, with a reverent nod of her head.

"Mistress Zenovia," Titania said again, equally reverent, and struggled for something more to say. "What has brought you back to this place?"

Zenovia inclined her head thoughtfully, furrowed her brow. "There has always remained in me a mutinous spark of rebellion," she replied, almost sadly. "But if I may ask, my Queen, what brings you here?"

"The human princess, Aurora or Briar Rose, recently became of some concern to me," Titania replied. "It seems my concern was well-founded."

Zenovia's expression remained impassive, but something sparked in her dark eyes. "Is the princess quite all right?"

Titania lowered her eyes. "I cannot be certain," she said.

Zenovia did not respond. She glanced over her shoulder, as though idle, but there remained the signs of rapid thought shining in her eyes. "My Queen, if you would be so kind, Mistress Kinsale is in that cell."

Kinsale, too? Of course. Titania was beginning to feel rather overwhelmed by how badly she seemed to have misjudged the situation on Earth. The last time Sara had grown a bit too power-hungry, she hadn't the resources, let alone the gall to go after an entire species, such as the wicked fae had become in recent centuries. If one were to look for a pattern, one would find that Sara matched every wit and follower she had against one particularly troublesome dark fairy at a time.

Cordelia had been truly powerful and rather mad by the time Sara began gathering forces against her. She was perceived by the masses, even by her own kind and former friends and allies, as truly and completely evil, a genuine menace to the world as they knew it. Sara's disposal of her, however messy, had been rather unanimously seen as an act of absolute goodness to all the earth, and this was how Sara had won herself such fanatical support.

The cases that had followed, however, had been heavily steeped in controversy. Acacia, Cordelia's daughter, was cited by friends, and by Titania's counselor Joy, as a mild-mannered person of limited magical power whose deeds had been grossly misconstrued. Zenovia, though said to have a far more hostile disposition, was oft said to be first and foremost a proponent of knowledge and academia. Her greatest crimes could very easily have been construed under different circumstances as a mere attempt to spread knowledge which the Righteous Fae did not see fit to be spread.

Titania called for the release of each of Sara's prisoners, one after the other, with the caveat that they would do well to make themselves scarce in the days to come. She then gathered her attendants, along with a deeply troubled Mistress Hilda of the Mountainlands, and set about searching the rest of Sara's fortress.

She did not have to search very long, however, before Mistress Hilda meekly offered up a suggestion.

"No," Zenovia uttered, low and murderous.

Queen Titania did not understand their silent conflict until, on the other side of the door Hilda had indicated, she and the half-dozen attendants swarming about her were greeted by the stench of fire, and a most gruesome sight. The body of what appeared to be a human girl hung limp in chains against one wall. Mistress Sara stood in the center of the small room, poised and panting, with wand outstretched. She turned wild, unseeing eyes upon her intruders, but she made no move to relax, nor to flee. She was paralyzed, and out of her mind.

Titania was only faintly aware of the horrified whispers coming from Sara's attendants. She walked past Sara and unbound the human girl, who fell limp into her arms. The only indicator of her identity was in remnants of golden blonde hair that clung to her scalp and fell in clumps at their feet. Her skin was badly burned all over, and as such, it was difficult to tell whether she was still alive.

Behind her, Titania could hear scuffling feet and Zenovia's rising anger. "What's happening? Let me through—stand aside!" Titania turned to face her, and Zenovia froze in the doorway. Her eyes darted from the limp body of the princess to Mistress Sara.

"You!" Zenovia cried, hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Foul beast! How can your claim to righteousness allow for this?"

But Sara did not move, did not speak, did not even blink. She stood at the ready, brandishing her wand at every fairy in her line of vision. From Zenovia's hands came a bright flash, and two jagged streaks of something like lightning. Sara staggered, but did not falter; flinched, but did not fight back. Zenovia hit her again, again, and again, and not even the Queen of the Fairies dared intervene. Titania, Hilda, and six trained attendants stood in silence until Sara fell to her knees, and her wand clattered to the floor beside her.

"Take Mistress Sara into custody," Titania commanded at last, but her voice was a hushed sound, almost strangled. Her eyes wandered past where Zenovia loomed, hands still held at the ready, down to the kneeling Mistress Sara. "What has become of you?" she wondered, and she found that the question was posed far more to herself than to the fallen hero of the Sea Kingdom.

Ostensibly shaken from her rage by the sight of Mistress Sara in chains, Zenovia's stance relaxed somewhat, and she turned to face Titania with an odd sort of expression. Her face was naturally harsh and imposing, and so vulnerability and concern etched into her strong features did not quite read at first. She looked strangely lost, and held out her arms.

Titania gazed between Zenovia's face and her outstretched arms several times before she understood, and handed the princess over to her.

Zenovia nodded curtly. "You won't find a better healer," she said. "I shall do all I can for her."

Titania averted her eyes, feeling curiously lost, herself. "I have no doubt," she said. "I shall...send word...to the Eastern Kingdom."

She left the room in a hurry. Certainly Zenovia would go where she needed to, take what resources she required, and Titania was not eager to linger there. The place smelled of death—something the Fairy Queen had not experienced in more than a thousand years, and if a thousand more passed before she encountered the stench again, it would be too soon.

There was a great deal Titania must now attend to, of course. Sara would be tried in the Sky Kingdom for what would likely prove to be a great many crimes, and every step of the process would doubtless be met with unspeakable contention. Sara was loved by many and despised by others, and who could say how greatly that would shift when the public learned that she had tortured, and very probably killed a human girl? Burned her at the stake like a witch, no less!

Why, if historians believed Mistress Acacia's trial had been such a tragic disaster, what would they say of Mistress Sara's?


	30. The Family

"Zenovia!"

"Oh, Zen-OOO-via!"

Zenovia had nearly dropped her staff at the sound of her younger sisters' voices, nearly fallen to her knees when they burst through her door. She felt relieved—delighted, even—but these emotions were easily muted by her fury. They shouldn't be here, not now, of all times.

"Try not to look so happy to see us!" Irina flung her arms around Zenovia's neck. Zenovia's middle sister was not muscular. Her arms were soft and undefined.

Aithne's arms followed, around Zenovia's waist, and her grip on her staff loosened ever so slightly. "Yeah, who were you expecting? The Mountainland Fairies?"

 _Yes_.

"What are you doing here?" She'd stopped writing to them once she'd realized the peril she faced. She'd assumed they would take it as 'leave me alone' and not 'come by for a visit.'

"We're here to help you, obviously," Aithne replied, pulling away and offering Zenovia a very pointed smile. Where Zenovia and Irina had begun to show their age, Aithne still had a bit of a baby face, even at six hundred and fifty years old. Her dark hair falling in long, wild ringlets around her face and shoulders and down to her hips did little to age her.

"Help me," Zenovia echoed skeptically.

"Funny thing," said Irina, "when someone stops answering her beloved sisters' letters for a few months, said sisters occasionally experience something akin to concern." Irina chose to keep her hair firmly slicked back into a tight bun at the base of her neck. This emphasized her prominent cheekbones and large, searching eyes, the same midnight blue as Zenovia's.

"I don't need your help," Zenovia snapped.

Her sisters remained entirely unphased. "Really?" Irina pressed. "Because it sounds like you do."

"Mistress Hilda's little fan club in particular are out for your blood," Aithne supplied helpfully.

"And if Mistress Hilda gets involved, you know who's next!"

"What was it again, something about a book you wrote?"

"Dangerous information?"

"Slanderous propaganda?"

"Ring any bells?"

"I reiterate," Zenovia cut them off through clenched teeth, "I do not need your help. You shouldn't be here now."

"So you  _are_  in trouble!" Aithne guessed. The delight in her eyes at her discovery made plain that in all her life, she had yet to know the true meaning of trouble. Her older sisters had kept it from her.

"Yes, fine, I am in trouble!" Zenovia threw up her hands. "So if you know what's good for you, you'll both make yourselves scarce until all this blows over."

That was back when Mistress Sara was first getting riled up again, shortly after Zenovia had sent Maleficent away. Zenovia and her sisters had already lived through one of Sara's haphazard tirades against the wicked fae. Irina and Aithne ought to know that once someone caught Sara's attention, she went after anyone she could find. She'd once famously taunted Mistress Joy with the discovery of her father's identity, of all things, which was to say that Sara would be perfectly happy to use Zenovia's sisters against her even without knowing that she cared for them.

But her sisters had insisted upon remaining—given her no option, really, and Zenovia could not bring herself to pretend that she wasn't happy to see them. Irina and Aithne still shared a kinship, and an easy rapport that Zenovia had once been a part of. They maintained a certain youth and lightness about them that Zenovia had long since lost. Perhaps she had never possessed it at all, for what kind of miserable fairy became a murderer at such a young age?

Their joy, their lightness, was as satisfying as it was painful, because to Zenovia, it meant that her many sacrifices had not been in vain. Of what importance was her own peace of mind if she had managed to save a bit of her sisters' joy?

In keeping with her sudden superfluity of uncharacteristic trails of thought, Zenovia had spent a great deal of time over the last few days dwelling on the past. She supposed it had begun when she believed she would die, and it had continued when she'd suddenly been presented with a great deal of quiet freedom.

Zenovia had essentially been afforded the run of Mistress Sara's fortress, with very few questions asked. It was a curious thing, to be regarded so highly. Over the course of nearly eight hundred years, Zenovia had grown rather accustomed to being reviled and mistrusted, and the opposite seemed to her a bit like a cruel joke. Evidently the Fairy Queen, whom Zenovia had scarcely met, had been offered primarily the details of Zenovia's life which painted her in a favourable light.

Still, after centuries of subsisting on so little, having boundless people and resources at her disposal felt positively luxurious. Overwhelming, and very strange, but undeniably nice.

The Fairy Queen in question seemed rather at a loss for what to do, and she wandered in and out of the room Zenovia had arbitrarily chosen to conduct her healing. It must have been at least a century since she'd set foot on Earth, and Zenovia imagined her work here in previous circumstances had been largely structured and political in nature. Of course she would feel out of step when dealing with the practical and immediate implications of war.

"Is...are they going to live?" the queen asked her.

Zenovia bit the inside of her mouth. The queen's concern was Briar Rose. She had asked after Kinsale only as an afterthought. "Yes," she replied.

Burns, even severe ones, were simple enough to heal. The difficulty was that one was seldom afforded the opportunity. Briar Rose had reached the brink of death, to be certain, but her heart still beat in her chest when she was placed in Zenovia's arms—slowly, quietly, steadfastly. Like the ancient magic that dwelled within her veins, she had fought for survival.

And so much of magic hinged upon intent.

Kinsale was rather worse for wear, as everyone in the dungeon, conscious or not, had been Chained. Zenovia wondered whether the esteemed Mountainland Fairies enjoyed having their crafting skills so blatantly exploited. But Kinsale's heart, too, still beat—faint and erratic—and she still gasped for breath intermittently, as though her body struggled to remind her that breathing was necessary. It was no small comfort that Kinsale was a wicked fairy. Wicked fairies always healed. If any part of them clung to life, they would pull through. This was not the case with humans.

"Good," the queen sighed, as though genuinely relieved, but even this was as affected as the rest of her demeanour. "It is...an anomaly," she continued uncertainly. "I hadn't realized...the princess...magic from the wicked and the righteous, together..."

Were Zenovia a more lighthearted fairy, she might have laughed. Was this the source of the queen's sudden interest in earthly affairs? "The good fairy magic in her veins is weak and simplistic. Her proclivities lean much farther towards those of the wicked fae. She cannot read good fairy spells, for example."

"Still," Queen Titania took a hesitant step into the room. Zenovia's lip curled instinctively. "It has been...centuries."

Zenovia turned to face the queen. "Yes, and that collaboration ended so beautifully."

Titania shook her head. "Joy and Terra were two very different people," she said.

"Shall I follow your trail of thought, Majesty?" Perhaps the queen hadn't meant to sound condescending, but Zenovia did not care to have one of the only friends she had ever known 'explained' to her by someone who couldn't possibly know more than a fraction of the truth. "Because Briar Rose is one person and not two, you think the magic is somehow bereft of its natural enmity?"

"Time has passed, Zenovia. Things have changed—"

"Really?' Zenovia snapped. "If anything, I would posit that the situation has gotten worse. Or do you not see me standing here over the body of a human girl who was nearly burnt to death for her alliance with the wicked fae? A human girl!"

Titania held up her hands and bowed her head in defeat. "I'm sorry," she said. "I only thought...perhaps hoped..."

Zenovia returned her attention to her patient, inspected her for wounds already healed. Her face was bright red, a new layer of skin still forming, but her famous beauty remained obvious. Her lovely hair was mostly gone, fallen out or charred beyond repair. Kinsale, or even Maleficent might know how to remedy that, but neither of them would be available for some time. Zenovia ran her fingers lightly along Rose's arm, felt the patches of feverish skin still healing and too-cold skin clinging to life. She noted that the telltale scar on the inside of Briar Rose's wrist, the scar of a person who had made an attempt upon her own life, had at last begun to fade away.

"Briar Rose has suffered enough," said Zenovia, quietly but firmly. "Speak to her if you must, when she awakens, but please, place no more burdens upon her shoulders. She is not a fairy, scarcely even an adult. Should you forget that, you are no better than Mistress Sara."

The Fairy Queen left her alone with her thoughts after that.

Zenovia tried not to dwell on her memories of Sara's torture, not because the memories themselves upset her, but because of the implication that nearly every fairy Sara had imprisoned or falsely accused of a crime, or even so much as interrogated, had likely endured the same treatment. Joy...Kinsale...Briar Rose...Irina...Aithne...

 _You know what you must do,_  Sara always said, over and over.  _Just say the word and I will end your suffering_.

Zenovia's throat tightened suddenly and her fists clenched as a question she had always managed to keep steadfastly smothered rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind. Had her sisters begged for mercy before Sara had killed them?

Who was she? Who was Zenovia, that she should still be sitting here, more or less fine, when nearly everyone else she had ever dared to hold dear had fallen? The memory of Kinsale throwing herself between Zenovia and what would undoubtedly have been a killing blow came rushing back to the forefront of Zenovia's mind. She cringed and pushed the thought away.

Idly, Zenovia placed her hand lightly on top of Briar Rose's. It was a senseless gesture, comfort for someone who couldn't possibly be anywhere near consciousness, but in thinking of her younger sisters, Zenovia found herself drawing parallels to Rose. A youthful spirit beaten down by the horrors of this wretched world...and no one could protect her, not Zenovia, nor Kinsale, nor even Maleficent—who, for all her frenzied protestations, had desperately wanted to.

Zenovia didn't know exactly what had happened with Maleficent. Queen Titania had told her, and she had seemed extremely unclear on the details. All Zenovia had really gleaned was that Maleficent was alive and free and in her dragon form.

Shapeshifting fairies were extremely uncommon, so Zenovia didn't know very much about them. It was one of those abilities that had, a few millennia ago, mostly found itself on the side of the wicked fae, and therefore been especially likely to be snuffed out. She did know that larger transformations were volatile and high on the scale of magical expenditure, so Maleficent would likely remain a dragon for some time.

Where she would go, Zenovia hadn't any idea. Maleficent had in her relatively short lifespan been known to disappear for decades on end. There was no telling where she now stood on the matter of exacting some misguided revenge upon the object of her most troubled affections, or indeed upon the matter of those affections.

Zenovia took a seat next to Rose's makeshift bed and regarded her skeptically. True, she had ardently disapproved of Maleficent's dalliance with Kinsale all those years ago. Apart from being intolerably chatty, Kinsale had a reputation for seducing talented young sorceresses, and Maleficent had been  _very_  young. By the same standards, Zenovia ought to feel similarly opposed to the bizarre but obvious tension that existed between Maleficent and Rose, but she had never quite managed to latch onto indignation with any degree of sincerity. Briar Rose was understanding where Maleficent was unyielding, Maleficent cynical where Rose was idealistic. Under different circumstances, they would be oddly well-suited for one another.

But wicked fairies hadn't the slightest idea how to love one another, let alone someone with any innate understanding of the concept. More likely than anything was that Maleficent would fly around as a dragon for a few decades in the hope that Rose would forget all about her.

Zenovia's focus shifted to Kinsale, lying half-dead on the next cot because she had made the absolutely insane decision to save Zenovia's life, and her dismal mood soured even further. A part of her thought it a shame that two people so well-suited should be at such odds with one another, but a much larger part of her understood perfectly. It was easier to run away.

It was easier to stop writing letters.

It was easier to disappear, and to hope the ones you were foolish enough to love might be sensible enough to forget you.

Why, instead, would they sacrifice themselves to protect you?

* * *

Aurora was gone.

Aurora was gone, and no one seemed to know where she was, or even care to find out.

Leah was beside herself. As she scoured the wreckage wrought by the battle, wove through the chaos that had followed Maleficent's failed execution, asked every person and fairy she passed, and found nothing but blood and gore and a dearth of answers to her questions, she felt herself beginning to unravel.

"Have you seen the princess?"

"No, Majesty."

"Did you see where Mistress Briar Rose went?"

"No, your Majesty. Apologies."

"Where is Aurora?"

"I don't know, Majesty, apologies—"

And without any warning, Leah grasped fistfuls of the young servant's shirt and demanded again, "Where is she?!"

"I don't know! Please, Majesty, I'm sorry!"

Leah froze, breathed, let him go. "No," she said quietly, stunned. "I am sorry."

She retreated from the chaotic courtyard and climbed the long staircase that led to the topmost tower room. There was no sign of life up here—Leah had to duck her head to avoid a large spider that had taken up residence in the doorway. Leah collapsed onto the bed the good fairies had fashioned for Aurora while she had slept. She cradled the pillow against her chest almost like an infant, and wept bitterly into it.

Her baby was here, then gone. Returned after sixteen years, then gone again. Brought back, dragged kicking and screaming in chains, then fled, and who could blame her? Returned of her own free will, but only because she felt she had nowhere else to turn...

...now gone.

And Leah was to blame for all of it. She couldn't have a child on her own, and she'd been desperate enough to ask for a wicked fairy's assistance, but then she'd been too cowardly to protect what she had asked for. She hadn't demanded that Maleficent's wishes be obeyed, she hadn't demanded that her baby stay in her arms, she hadn't demanded that her daughter be regarded with respect—not once, but twice!

How could she? Leah had scarcely ever been regarded with any respect. Indeed, she had no respect for herself. How could she fight for the respect her daughter now demanded for herself when Leah knew so little of the concept?

All Leah had wanted was to have Aurora in her life. And when, for one brief, shining moment, she'd felt like perhaps she was making progress towards that dream, her baby was snatched away from her once more.

Had she been kidnapped or captured? Had she gone of her free will? Had she somehow managed to free Maleficent, and had they run away together? The thought made Leah ill, and yet, it was the best she had to hope for—that Aurora had done what she wanted. That she was happy.

Sometime in the late evening, Leah was awoken from a fitful slumber by...not footsteps, precisely, but some vague notion of someone approaching. She opened her eyes to see a very tall fairy with dark skin and golden hair and wings, ducking under the spider in the doorframe.

"Queen Leah?"

"Yes?" Leah's voice was hoarse and her muscles ached, but she attempted to right herself on the bed.

"I am Queen Titania of the Sky Dominion, sovereign of all the fair folk," she curtseyed, and Leah's attention was drawn to the way her feet did not quite touch the ground. It has come to my attention that one of my people has meddled rather unforgivably in human affairs. Are you all right?"

"My daughter—" Leah managed. "She's...gone."

The Fairy Queen approached slowly, almost cautiously, as though Leah were a madwoman. "I couldn't get much out of your men, but I think I know where she is."

"Then I must go to her!" Leah tried to stand, but her knees buckled and her head spun.

The Fairy Queen took another not-step forward, and held her hand over Leah's heart. Leah felt warmth flooding through her body, and suddenly she felt a bit better. Her throat was no longer dry and raw, her eyes no longer stung, but her hands still shook and her heart still ached. These were not physical ailments.

"Where Briar Rose has been taken is no place for a human," said the Fairy Queen.

"But—but—"  _She is a human!_

"Your daughter is a sorceress," said the Queen, as though in response to Leah's thoughts. "A rather good one, from what I hear. I shall send word as soon as I find out what's going on in the Sea Kingdom."

"No!" Leah cried, and the word surprised her even though she had spoken it.

The Fairy Queen didn't respond, but nor did she turn to leave.

"No, I will not sit idly by once more!" Leah continued, forcing herself onto her feet. "I have sat about long enough! I haven't been brave enough to protect my daughter! Once, twice, three times I've been a coward when her life was on the line!"

"Your Majesty," said the Fairy Queen gently, "there is bravery, and there is foolishness, and there is a very fine line between the two."

"You expect me to wait here until you send word!" Leah was raving. She felt as mad as she sounded, and she approached the Fairy Queen as though she might attack. The Queen remained unmoved and serene, and this only fanned the fire of Leah's fury. "You expect me to trust that you have her best interests at heart? She's been tossed about like a...like a thing! A possession! And I—"

And I have been complicit in this. I have been complicit in this because it is the only way I have ever known. My daughter wanted more for herself, and I held her back.

Leah began to cry, and the Fairy Queen gently scooped her up, as though she were nothing, and laid her on Aurora's accursed bed. Leah had lost her fury. It had been crushed under the horrible weight of self-loathing upon her chest.

"Sleep now, Queen Leah," said the Fairy Queen, and with her words came the vaguely unsettling tingle of magic. "Set out for the Sea Kingdom only when you receive word from me. Everything will be all right."

And for a moment—a hazy, magical moment—Leah almost believed her.

The Queen's 'word' came in the form of a crane, of all things, with a note attached to one of its long legs. It made a dreadful cackling sort of noise as it approached, and did the same if either Stefan or Leah attempted to approach it. Finally, Leah fetched Fauna, who came bearing breadcrumbs and who hummed sweetly to it. It allowed Fauna to take the note without protest, and accepted her breadcrumbs happily before flying off.

The journey was long and circuitous—Queen Titania had insisted they endeavour to avoid the remnant fighting—and Leah still felt very out of sorts. The Fairy Queen's calming magic left her feeling oddly hollow, as though fear had been all she had left to feel, and now she could not even access that.

The scenery along the way was undeniably beautiful, though. They passed through the Valley Kingdom, which seemed oddly quiet, as though utterly deserted, and the Forestlands, which were rife with strange animal sounds Leah had never even dreamed of hearing. They traveled over plains and crossed little rivers with the aid of Fauna and Merryweather's magic, and after some indeterminate amount of time and several restless naps, Leah awoke to Stefan's voice. "Darling, wake up—look!"

Out the window Leah could see glorious buildings, all made of something white and shining. The ground was mostly sand, intermittently paved, and the air was fresh and smelled like something Leah could not put a name to.

"The Sea Kingdom," Fauna breathed. "Isn't it lovely?"

"It's..." Leah rubbed her eyes and leaned on the window. "I've never seen anything like it."

"We used to come here on vacation," Fauna continued. She was happier than Leah had ever seen her. "When we were little girls, summers by the sea..."

It was an odd realization, that Fauna and Merryweather had once been children. Leah didn't know why the idea had never occurred to her. "How long has it been, Fauna?"

"Oh, centuries!" Fauna cried. "It must have been...why, it must have been when Mistress Cordelia was on trial..."

"And Fauna almost ran off with some human boy," Merryweather supplied smugly.

"I did not!" Fauna was utterly scandalized.

"Long walks on the beach," Merryweather continued, and now she, too, looked happier than ever before. "'Oh, I just like walking by myself!' she'd say to us! 'The ocean is so beautiful at night!' The  _ocean,_  she'd say!" Fauna covered her face with her hands, and Merryweather dissolved into laughter.

Leah had never seen Merryweather laugh. She'd never seen Fauna do anything but look terrified and conflicted. Now it became abundantly clear to Leah that Fauna and Merryweather, before they had been Stefan's counselors and before they had been Aurora's caretakers, had been sisters. They'd had...why, they'd had centuries' worth of lives before Leah had even come into existence.

It occurred to Leah that her worldview had been impossibly narrow, incredibly self-centered. She had made so many of her decisions based on what she felt would most benefit her, and anyone else caught in the wreckage, well, that wasn't really her concern. How many people had she allowed to exist in her mind only as they related to her?

"What got into you, anyway?" Merryweather prodded, only marginally less hysterical. "One day you were all sad and dreamy, and the next you were ready to pack up and run!"

Fauna sighed and returned her attention to the window. "Would you believe it? A wicked fairy told me I should do what I wanted to do."

"What?!" Merryweather's amusement fled from her face immediately, but their would-be argument was interrupted by the driver's announcement that they were approaching the fortress which formerly belonged to Mistress Sara.

This announcement was closely followed by an eruption of noise. Mistress Sara's fortress was the largest and shiniest of all the buildings they had seen, and it was surrounded by a veritable mob of screaming people—humans and fairies alike. Fauna and Merryweather had to forget their discomfort in order to nudge people away from—indeed, even off of the carriage, and it took an overwhelming force of fairy guardswomen dressed in sky blue to get the carriage safely through Sara's gates.

Two of those guards greeted Leah, Stefan, and Fauna and Merryweather and escorted them inside. Sara's fortress was so different from any structure Leah had ever seen, even in books. It was bright and harsh and angular and all the white made it look unnervingly clean. They were led upstairs and directed into a room which contained two little cots: one with a horribly injured wicked fairy, the other with a horribly injured Aurora.

"What is it now?" a voice demanded, but Leah was beginning to feel dizzy and ill again, and whatever conversation followed sounded as though it were occurring underwater. Stefan and the good fairies crowded around Aurora's makeshift bed, but Leah retreated into the hall, hand pressed against the odd white wall, struggling to remain upright.

She'd hardly even looked like Aurora. Her face—it was like she had been...it was like a sunburn, but so much worse. And her hair—her beautiful hair!—it was charred like coal from a dying fire! Aurora had been burned! Oh, heaven above, Leah could not bear to think of it. She doubled over, sure she would be sick on these awful, clean, white floors.

In her periphery, she saw rather than heard furious footsteps exiting the room. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and looked up to see yet another wicked fairy storming into the hallway. This one had short black hair and was noticeably muscular. She paced back toward Leah and Leah realized that she, too, had been recently injured. Her stern face had not been burned like Aurora's, or that of the other wicked fairy, but it was covered in nasty gashes.

"Mistress Zenovia?" Leah guessed timidly.

The wicked fairy stopped, turned sharply. "Your Majesty."

"You...I..." Leah had imagined meeting Mistress Zenovia countless times now. Zenovia had taught her Aurora magic. Aurora had spoken fondly of her, more fondly than Leah imagined she'd ever spoken of her own mother. But now, faced with this tall, muscular, imposing person with her stern expression and her cold, dark eyes, and knowing all the wildly varied things Leah knew about her past, she was left at a loss. "Aurora...Rose...spoke fondly of you," she managed at last.

Zenovia glanced away, towards the room where Aurora slept, then back. "Oh," she said simply.

"Thank you," Leah tried again, desperate for something, but uncertain what it was she sought. "Thank you for saving her."

Zenovia's brow furrowed subtly. "It wasn't a favour," she replied.

"I know, that's not...I mean..." Leah shook her head, fought back tears of confusion and exhaustion. "All the same, I am grateful to you."

Zenovia stood as though paralyzed for what felt like an eternity before Fauna came bustling out into the hallway. "Your Majesty, excuse me, but Rose is—she's waking up!"

Zenovia rushed into the room, obviously eager for something to do other than to continue the uncomfortable conversation Leah had initiated. Leah had to steel herself before she could bear to look at her daughter this way again. Aurora—Rose—was waking up. That had to be good news, right? She would get better, right?

Cautiously, Leah approached the threshold of the small room. Zenovia had retreated into the corner, almost a shadow in her own right, even in this unnervingly bright, white room. Leah joined the small crowd around Aurora's bedside, and held onto Stefan's arm as she watched Rose's breathing strengthen and stabilize and her eyelashes flutter.

* * *

Briar Rose came into existence in fragments. She was first aware of the faint beating of her own heart, then of the feverish warmth of her face, then, gradually, of her arms, legs, hands, feet, fingers, toes. She opened her eyes, slowly, then blinked against the blurriness of her vision. She saw her mother, the Queen, her father, the King, and two of her three beloved aunties, standing above her, all of them crying, but at the same time very happy.

She did her best to smile up at them, but felt strangely hollow. Was she dead? Dreaming? She cared for these people, to be certain, and assuming they were all still alive, she was very glad of it, but she couldn't help but think that they were not the ones she needed to see just now.

She tried to sit up and failed miserably, and a strangled groan escaped her lips. From somewhere behind the circle of faces around her, another appeared, as though from the shadows, and for Zenovia, Rose mustered a genuine smile.

Zenovia said something to her, but Rose realized now that she heard everything as though she were underwater. Zenovia held a cup of something to her lips, and as she drank it, sounds became clearer, and her throat was soothed.

"...so glad you're all right, Rose!" Fauna's voice became clear.

"...were afraid you'd completely lost your..." Merryweather was talking over her as usual "...but oh, nevermind that..."

"Are you...?" Queen Leah's voice was hesitant, but the good fairies fell silent immediately. "Are you truly all right? Rose?"

Rose considered this question with what few faculties she possessed. She wasn't certain whether she knew exactly what 'all right' was supposed to feel like anymore. She didn't feel anything like she'd felt before the events leading up to her sixteenth birthday, for example. She wasn't certain she would ever feel that way again...like the world was small and simple and full of love and joy, or like the things she lacked would be easy to find. She felt small and hollow and distant from these people surrounding her, the people who had once been the most important things in the world to her, the people who had once shaped the entirety of her universe.

Over Merryweather's head and King Stefan's shoulder, Zenovia had retreated back into the shadows; indeed, she'd become nearly imperceptible, which was quite a feat for a presence so imposing. Rose considered all the things that had happened to her over the past two years, all the things she had caused to happen, all the places she'd been, the people she'd met, the things she'd learned. She had somehow done what she set out to do. She had forged a life for herself, sometimes with intention, and sometimes with one disastrous misstep after another.

Recently, Briar Rose had felt a great many things. She had felt rage so overpowering it nearly consumed her, turned her into someone she did not recognize, someone who could do tremendous damage, just like Mistress Sara had done to her, and countless other fairies and sorceresses must have done before. She'd felt broken beyond repair, as though there were no use left in living, nothing left to hold onto. She'd felt like a constant prisoner, no matter where she went, as though death were the only true freedom for her. She'd felt like she was dying, like she wished for nothing more than simply to die, like death would be a tremendous relief.

Most recently, she'd felt with every fibre of her being that she wanted to live, that there was something in this world still worth pursuing, that perhaps there were worse fates than death, but to die was never to know what might have been. She had wanted desperately to live, been certain that she would die...and yet here she was, alive.

She considered what would have happened if she'd stayed put in her room as she was told, and allowed Maleficent to be executed for her crimes. True, perhaps a great many things never would have happened—perhaps this entire fairy war could have been circumvented...and perhaps Briar Rose would have settled into Princess Aurora. Perhaps she would have accepted her fate, her destiny, and she would have grown so accustomed to it that it felt like happiness to her. She wouldn't have known any better.

The world was no longer small or simple for Briar Rose, and this curious emptiness she felt inside would not likely be easy to fill. But at the same time, Rose no longer felt broken or caged or out of her mind. She felt strange and hollow, yes, but she also felt new. Like the phoenix, Briar Rose had been reborn from her own ashes. She had burst into flame, been nearly destroyed—whether it be by accident or her own desire, and now she had the opportunity to reinvent herself, to start over.

"I think so," Rose said at last. Her voice was small and meek, but steady. "At least...I will be."

 _We were so worried_  started up anew, but Rose's focus remained on Zenovia, even as she was trying very hard to escape attention. "Zenovia?" she asked over the din of fretful voices around her.

"Yes?"

"You saved me." It wasn't a question. Zenovia must have somehow gotten to her before Sara had managed to completely kill her, and of course she was the best wicked fairy healer there ever was, and—

"You saved yourself, Briar Rose," Zenovia replied.

"What?" Rose's thoughts lurched, came to a screeching halt, and only slowly and clumsily offered up questions. Saved herself? How could that be possible? And what of—? "What of Mistress Sara?"

"Sara is a problem for another day," said Zenovia. Merryweather and Leah parted awkwardly as Zenovia approached Rose's bedside, looking almost tentative. "She has been captured, and her prisoners have been freed."

Rose struggled to process this. Captured. Freed. Rose had been Sara's prisoner. She had been captured and then freed. So had Zenovia. So, probably had—

"Kinsale? What about Kinsale?"

Zenovia gestured to Rose's right, and for the first time, Rose was able to take stock of the strange little room she was in. The walls were white and curiously bright, and she was propped up on a cot of sorts, not unlike the one she had slept on during her stay in Zenovia's hidden fortress. There was another little cot next to hers, previously obscured by the heads of Fauna and Merryweather, and on it lay Kinsale, looking something like Maleficent had looked when she had almost died at Sara's hands. Her emerald green skin was charred a sickly grey, and her long, thick hair, which she usually crafted into such intricate fashions, had mostly fallen out. What remained sprawled limply about her face, and it hardly even looked like her face. Her cheeks were sunken in, there were dark circles under her eyes, and there was a large, bloody bandage on one of her temples.

"Is she going to be okay?" Rose asked Zenovia frantically.

For a second—an instant, really; almost nothing at all—Rose was certain she saw Zenovia smile. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Rose couldn't imagine what there was for Zenovia to smile about, anyway. "She'll be fine," said Zenovia. "Worry about yourself. Fragile human."

And something about the way Zenovia said this made it clear to Rose that she—Zenovia, of all people!—was not mocking, but teasing. Good-naturedly. Rose beamed up at Zenovia, and for a moment, she forgot the pain she felt in her face from smiling, and the uncomfortable stares of her estranged family, and the uncertain fate of Mistress Sara and Maleficent and even herself.

Zenovia glanced away uncomfortably. "I'll leave you with your family," she said, and she was almost out the door before Rose could even form a thought.

"Wait!"

"Yes?" Zenovia stopped, but her hand was on the doorframe.

"Stay? Please?" Rose was probably out of line, asking Zenovia for anything. Whatever she said, Zenovia had spent who-knew-how-long bringing Rose and Kinsale back from the brink of death. Now she was obviously uncomfortable and didn't want to be here anymore. But Rose had just awoken in a sea of what might as well be strangers at this point. Her parents and the fairies who had raised her loved her, Rose knew, but they knew nothing about who she really was.

What was more, Rose wanted to know what was happening in the world—not just now, but as it continued to happen—and her well-meaning family had the unfortunate habit of lying to her in a vain attempt to keep her safe.

Rose didn't know very much at this moment, but she knew that Zenovia had never lied to her.

"I—" Zenovia's reaction was odd, and not what Rose had expected. She'd anticipated a flat refusal, or a begrudging acceptance. Not hesitation. Certainly not hesitation that suggested that Zenovia  _wanted_  to stay, but wasn't certain she should.

"Please?" Rose repeated gently. "I'd like it... It would make me happy...if you stayed."

And so Zenovia, tall and hulking compared to the good fairies and Rose's slender, timid parents, awkwardly pulled up a chair and settled herself at Rose's bedside. After a moment of heavy silence, the  _we were so worried about you_  chatter began anew, and the oddness of Zenovia's presence among Rose's family was all but forgotten.


	31. The Stars

Neither of them could stay in the air for very long. That they made it as far as the Valley Kingdom without careening headfirst into the earth, rendering their survival moot in one last fiery explosion, was a miracle, but the small part of Maleficent's brain still steadfastly devoted to reason knew they could not stay here for long.

Kinsale's beautiful home, host to so many infamous parties and the place where they'd spent a few nearly-happy years together, was utterly destroyed. Only a few pillars remained to indicate that some sort of structure had once stood there. They looked like ancient ruins, long abandoned, not the fresh wreckage she knew them to be. Maleficent and the dragonet hid themselves beneath the rubble and tried to rest, but Maleficent didn't sleep at all, and the dragonet's sleep was fitful at best, and they were back in the air by nightfall.

Maleficent hadn't a great deal of magic left in her veins. Between the battle, the Chaining, the transformation, and the long journey, she would likely have to rest for a few days before she could even think of her next step.

Which...wasn't something she'd anticipated needing to contemplate.

Perhaps it would be a welcome relief to remain a dragon for some time longer than she strictly needed to. Why, if it weren't for her young friend, Maleficent doubted she'd have been able to find a reason for living even if her life were offered to her. If someone had just simply removed her chains, would she have even had the reflexes left to escape? Would she have been able to discern why living or dying mattered in the end?

As it stood, Maleficent felt almost whole again. The loss of her shapeshifting ability had torn her apart inside, in ways she had hardly even begun to realize. She'd felt trapped in her own skin. Even though she had so scarcely called upon the ability due to its incredible magic expenditure and the way she tended to lose herself within her transformations, she had always known that the option was available to her, and it had felt immensely empowering. In any given situation, she'd always known that there was more she could give, more she could do, more she could be.

Briar Rose had sent the dragonet to save her—of this Maleficent was certain. At the time, Maleficent had found her departure impossibly disheartening. She'd thought whatever desperate effort Rose had come up with was pointless, and would much rather have had Rose by her side in her final hours than foolishly asking for time they could never have. In those few moments they'd spent together, they'd spoken so much more plainly than ever before...or perhaps the finality of their circumstances had merely enabled them to understand one another so much better than ever before.

But with that in mind, where did that leave them now?

It had been easy to dismiss Briar Rose's ardent professions of love when Maleficent awaited her execution. Rose had felt guilty for speaking the cruel truth to Maleficent earlier, and she'd felt responsible for Maleficent's imprisonment and consequent death sentence. And whatever she might think, Briar Rose was still simply too kind-hearted to wish death upon anyone, no matter how very much that someone might deserve it.

But now? For however calculated Maleficent might have ever been, for however cold-hearted she might have become, and however convinced she was of the certainty and necessity of her own utter aloneness, how could she forget, how could she ignore the words Briar Rose had spoken? Maleficent was no longer a dead woman. She was alive, and the words, dead, alive, meant something to her once more.

The worst of it was that Briar Rose might well have been speaking out of the direness of the moment, as had been simple to believe at the time. The only difference now was that Maleficent bore the maddening burden of hope.

Maleficent and the dragonet reached the Dragon Country sometime late at night. The place was as deadly silent as ever. Maleficent surveyed the land that belonged to her with an interesting quandary in mind: now that she was alive, and had every intention of remaining thus, where might she make her home?

This place was as much her home in the technical sense as were the Southern Mountains (commonly known since Maleficent's reign as the Forbidden Mountains). She held magical dominion over the chaotic forces in the land both here and there. She'd spent her formative years in this place, for whatever that was worth, and she'd spent the longest time of her life in her Forbidden Fortress. The magic was interesting to her, all the more because she'd scarcely had the time to study it since she'd become aware of it.

Then again, what did either place hold for Maleficent but unpleasant memories? The crude gravesites of her sisters, the urn that held the shattered remains of her raven companion...each of Maleficent's homes was a glorified cemetery for the small glimmers of companionship, of happiness, Maleficent had been able to glean in her lifetime.

Still, where would Maleficent go if she intended to start anew? Whatever was going on with the Sara situation, Maleficent was likely still actively reviled in most corners of the world, and she would be too weak to fight for some time. Were she in her fairy form, she might have chuckled at the idea of moving to the Sky Kingdom—if wicked fae were unwelcome on Earth, that was nothing compared to the way they were treated in the Sky Kingdom. And Maleficent found at this critical juncture that she had grown ever so slightly weary of always going where she was uninvited.

Would Maleficent ever do as her mother had done? Disguise herself for as long as she might, until everyone had forgotten her and a new conflict had arisen without her?

Perhaps it would be best if Maleficent simply ceased to exist. Perhaps she ought to lose herself within her dragon form indefinitely, join her kin in the Mountainlands, and find out how long wicked fairies really could live. Briar Rose had her family and her kingdom, and Kinsale and Zenovia would get by as they always had. No one besides this clumsy adolescent dragon wanted or needed Maleficent.

A week or more later, a couple of young villagers got a nasty shock when they looked up into the early morning sky. Soaring above their heads were two dragons—unmistakably so!—heading Northeast into the sunrise. One was small and bright green, just like the dragons their grandparents had described to them long ago, but the other was unlike anything they could have imagined: enormous, even from so high above, and decorated with black and purple scales that shone with vitality.

The two young villagers insisted all their lives that they knew what they had seen that morning, but no one ever believed them. Foolish children. Dragons hadn't lived near the Two Rivers for as long as anyone could remember!

* * *

Kinsale awoke to stars in her eyes.

Her vision blurred, focused, blurred again. She became acutely aware of her throbbing temples and some kind of dreadful stabbing sensation in her abdomen and left leg. She groaned loudly and squeezed her eyes closed. More stars exploded before her eyelids.

"How gracious of you to alert me to your consciousness."

Blur, focus, blur...

"Zenovia?" Focus. Crystal clear. Displeased as ever.

"Do you have a question, or do you fail to recognize your constant companion of several interminable months?"

Kinsale closed her eyes once more. The room had come into focus, but it seemed to spin more wildly the longer she spent trying to identify it. "I think 'companion' might be the kindest word you've ever said about me," she offered.

"Hm," was Zenovia's response.

Kinsale had never known a healing spell to pack such force until one hit her squarely in the side of the head, and her headache began to disperse. The room around her stabilized, but she didn't recognize anything about it. "Where are we?" she wondered.

"My home in the Mountainlands," said Zenovia. She cast another healing spell—only a bit more gently—upon the wound in Kinsale's abdomen.

It occurred to Kinsale that this information ought to be of considerable concern to her, but her mind remained sluggish and mostly focused on her bodily pain. "How long have I been out?" she wondered.

"A few days," said Zenovia.

"What happened?"

"You suffered a rather nasty blow to the head."

Kinsale gave Zenovia her best withering look, which she imagined from Zenovia's perspective must be the equivalent of a friendly smile. "You know what I mean."

Another forceful healing spell to the leg. Kinsale winced, then sighed.

"Well, let's see," said Zenovia. "Maleficent was sentenced to death for the dozenth time, but some clever person sent her a friendly dragon to save her from the fire. Sara went out of her mind and tortured and nearly killed a human girl, which understandably lost her a fair amount of support. The Fairy Queen decided the time had come at last for her Holiness to intervene, and the war has been officially ended...if not perhaps entirely eradicated."

The faintest beginnings of a smile began to tug at the corners of Kinsale's lips. She wasn't certain she could believe that things had taken such a dramatic turn for the better; yet, Zenovia was not known for sugarcoating the truth. "They're all right, then," she said quietly, daring to believe.  _And neither of them killed the other_. "My brothers?"

"All alive when Sara's prisoners were released, but if they're wise, they'll have made themselves scarce by now."

With a bit of context, it became very clear to Kinsale how odd it was that Zenovia had brought her to her own home in the Mountainlands, rather than one of her little fortresses hidden all about, or even back to the Valley.

"Is that what we're doing, as well?" Kinsale asked hesitantly. "Making ourselves scarce, I mean?"

Zenovia turned away a touch too quickly and began fussing with some potion-making items on the bedside table. "I had no interest in remaining in Sara's fortress any longer than necessary, especially now that it is overrun with Briar Rose's family and insipid fairy guardians." She paused, again for just an instant, but the silence felt somehow charged. "It seemed...remiss of me to leave you unattended in the remains of your home. With such severe injuries."

Kinsale bit the inside of her mouth, but a grin overtook her nonetheless. "Would you believe it, Mistress Zenovia of the Mountainlands once cared whether I lived or died!"

Zenovia's fingers curled menacingly around a bottle of something or other. "And now I wish the peaceful silence of death upon you once more. How interesting." She thrust the bottle at Kinsale. "Take three drops of this. It'll shut you up for an hour or two, at the very least."

She turned on her heel and seemed intent upon storming out of the room, but paused just inside the doorframe. "Call me when you wake," she muttered before she disappeared.

* * *

The Fairy Queen was magnificent to behold.

For all of Briar Rose's time spent with fairies, she was continually taken aback by their inhuman qualities. Perhaps because she'd spent her entire childhood with fairies disguised as humans, little things had had seemed commonplace to her in her aunties now stood out to her as glaring markers of something other than herself. For example, she'd always thought her aunties must be in their fifties or sixties, but their faces bore nary a wrinkle or blemish. Similarly, the Fairy Queen, simply standing above Briar Rose against an eerie white backdrop, possessed flawless and youthful skin, yet she exuded a kind of ancience that suggested she must have been alive when things Rose couldn't even conceptualize had taken place.

"Mistress Briar Rose," she said. Her voice was high in pitch, and it bore a kind of rich, musical quality that caused her words—Rose's name—to resonate in Rose's very being. The effect was both similar and completely different from that of Maleficent's lower, harsher voice.

"Hello," said Rose, breathless.

"How are you feeling?" asked the Fairy Queen. "Mistress Zenovia said you'd be all right without her, now that you have your family here."

"Oh, I'm..." Zenovia had left with Kinsale, who was still more or less unconscious, the previous evening. Rose hadn't wanted them to go, but she knew her parents and aunties crowded into that little room all the time made Zenovia profoundly uncomfortable, and she couldn't rightly ask Zenovia to stay any longer than she already had for Rose's benefit. "I'm all right. I hope I'll be able to get up and about soon." Though to do what or go where, exactly, Rose hadn't the slightest idea.

"I've been hearing of your trials for some time now," said the Fairy Queen. "I think it's time we had a proper conversation."

Rose didn't really know what fairy sovereigns were in charge of, but she couldn't imagine what she had done to warrant that kind of attention. It must be the same as with Mistress Sara—just a big, deadly misunderstanding. "What could you possibly want to talk to me about?"

"To be direct, your magic," the Fairy Queen replied.

Rose would have laughed if she'd felt any joy on the matter of her magic. "I don't know what you've heard," she said, "but it isn't very good."

The Fairy Queen shook her head. "There haven't been many human sorceresses who could hold their own against fairies of any magical persuasion, let alone share any sort of understanding with them. That fact notwithstanding, I am given to understand that you have a most unusual mixture of magic in your veins, and now as I look at you closely, I can see their traces plainly. The magical gifts you received from your righteous fae guardians at your christening—Mistress Flora's gift of a fairy's beauty and charm, and Mistress Fauna's gift of her entrancing song and connection to the natural world, and even Mistress Merryweather's gift of protection still hangs about you, as one might wear an amulet to ward off the worst of one's ill fortune."

For all that had passed between Briar Rose and her fairy aunts, the Fairy Queen's assurance that their magical gifts remained with her, even after she had nearly had her magic drained from her body, and even after Aunt Flora... To hear the words was an unspeakable comfort, something far beyond anything Rose could have imagined that she needed to hear, and she found that she was smiling even as the thought of her aunties filled her with a deep sadness.

"Then, more difficult to notice, but far stronger once seen, there is the magic of the wicked fairy Maleficent. It isn't as obvious as beauty or song, because it is ingrained in the very essence of your being. You were able to be conceived, to be brought into this world in which you now seek to find your place, because of a wicked fairy's magic." The Fairy Queen paused, tilted her head studiously. "It is marvelous to behold, Briar Rose, because the common perception has for so many centuries been that the wicked fae can only defile and destroy, cannot create, cannot enrich or improve. And certainly cannot live in harmony with the righteous fae."

The Fairy Queen took a step forward, and Rose felt an uncomfortable tightness in the pit of her stomach. "I wonder," said the Fairy Queen, "if you might consider a sojourn in the Sky Dominion. After you're well, of course, and all this is a bit more settled. You could study magic there, of course. I'm certain many will want to take part in teaching you once your fame has spread. It has been a long time since the magic of the wicked and the righteous has coexisted, and you could do a great deal to mend relations between the two."

"Me? Stay? In the...?" The words fell from her lips unbidden, for Rose could not even begin to fathom what the Fairy Queen was asking of her. Not an hour ago, she was grateful simply to be alive, with no real idea of where she would go next or even what it was she still hoped to secure for herself with this life she had been afforded, and now this—this unimaginable option—was presented to her?

"There's no telling where it might lead for you, Briar Rose," said the Fairy Queen. "You might stay for a short time simply to hone your magical skill and participate in a bit of research, then go along your merry way back on Earth. However, I daresay you shall find in the years to come untold opportunities for yourself, to travel along paths you might never have considered."

Rose's mind vacillated wildly between unfathomable racing and utter stillness. She could hardly contemplate what she was being told, and how her life might once again be torn irrevocably asunder. "I don't..."

"I only ask that you consider it, your Excellency," said the Fairy Queen as she turned to leave Rose's little room. "As I said, there is a great deal of good you could do, and there's no rush to decide. The lives of fairies move a fair bit slower than the lives of mortals."

 _And humans are forgetful in their transience_ , Rose thought to herself as she watched the Fairy Queen depart, and she was left all alone once again.

* * *

Zenovia's decidedly gruff bedside manner made it easy to forget that she was the best wicked fairy healer there had ever been. Kinsale had read everything Zenovia had ever written, of course, apart from the infamous Good Fairy Magic book that had allegedly gotten her into some trouble, but Kinsale learned best from talking to people, and Zenovia had never shown the slightest interest in talking to Kinsale, even while Kinsale had spent months on end sleeping on a cot not an arm's length away from Zenovia's bed.

And it wasn't precisely that that had changed in any grand, dramatic way, but there was something distinctly different about the way Zenovia acted around her. There was a certain hesitancy that Kinsale had never witnessed, and her brusque words didn't pack quite the same punch they used to.

Temple...abdomen...leg. This was the order in which Zenovia applied her healing spells. She'd half-awoken twice to the pattern since they'd first spoken, and now that Zenovia repeated it while Kinsale was fully conscious, she could safely ascertain that the other two occurrences had not been some kind of fever dream.

"Clever tactic," Zenovia said quietly as she cast the spell on Kinsale's temple.

Kinsale was so stunned that Zenovia had initiated a conversation that she remained silent.

Zenovia's fingertips lightly touched the skin just shy of Kinsale's hairline. "Temple, abdomen, leg. Prevents the victim from thinking, breathing, and running away, all at once."

"You'll forgive me if I fail to fully appreciate the mastery at the moment," Kinsale replied with a small, hesitant smile.

Their eyes met briefly, and there, again, was that curious hesitation that had so suddenly begin to present itself in Zenovia's entire demeanour. But it was only for an instant, hardly even noticeable, and then Zenovia responded with a "Hm," and moved on to the wound in Kinsale's abdomem.

"Nasty magic, too, for good fairies," she muttered after a moment's silence. "Aggressive. Remarkable that the head wound didn't kill you while you were Chained."

"A kindness that I don't remember being Chained," said Kinsale. Then, a rather delightful thought occurred to her. "I wonder if that makes me an anomaly?" She'd never been an anomaly before. She'd never been quite controversial enough to be Chained, never bested anyone interesting in combat...why, she was only interesting as of recently by association to Maleficent! "Perhaps I am the only fairy to have been Chained and not remember it!" she chuckled.

Zenovia's hand paused, hovering in midair over the wound just above Kinsale's knee. Kinsale could feel warmth radiating from Zenovia's hand and it caused her to shiver. Suddenly Zenovia's eyes caught Kinsale's once more, and this time, her gaze was piercing with intention.

"Why did you do it?" Zenovia asked quietly, evenly.

Kinsale's eyes flickered from Zenovia's face down to her hand and back again. Her expression remained infuriatingly neutral...though perhaps the lines of eternal displeasure etched into her face were not quite so pronounced as usual. "What, jump in front of you?"

Zenovia nodded once. The cool rush of a healing spell flowed from her hand to Kinsale's thigh.

"Well," Kinsale began slowly. "I saw the chain spell charging up between them, you know, and I thought... Well, I saw all the things I'd done in my lifetime sort of flash before my eyes...all the parties and writing and conversations that felt more like interviews, because I was the one who wanted to know about others. No one was ever asking about me. And I thought..."

Kinsale frowned and she looked away from Zenovia's steely gaze. "I thought, what a shame it would be...if someone so insignificant as myself should survive this battle, and someone so important as you should fall."

Kinsale's eyes focused on Zenovia's hand, still hovering just above her knee, not quite touching her. The room was deadly silent for a moment, and when Kinsale at last dared to look up, she was entirely unprepared for the sight that greeted her.

The look in Zenovia's eyes was unlike anything Kinsale had ever seen before. Zenovia was looking at Kinsale like...like she was some rare, new magic to be deciphered. Like she was fascinating. Like she was special.

Maybe it was the warmth from Zenovia's hand almost on her knee, or maybe it was the way that curious spark in Zenovia's eyes made Kinsale dizzy, but Kinsale found that she had leaned in closer without even meaning to, and suddenly they were a breath apart, and a vague, hazy idea tugged at the corners of Kinsale's mind—

But she jerked away, almost panting from the effort, and Zenovia responded in kind. Zenovia muttered something about 'back in a few hours for the love of Hades don't try to get up' and disappeared, and Kinsale rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

Kinsale had made some questionable passes in her lifetime, to be certain, but this time she had certifiably lost her mind. That was the only logical explanation. The Mountainland Fairies had really done a number on her brain, and now she had gone out of her mind.

Had she actually almost kissed Zenovia?

* * *

"Let me get this straight. A wicked fairy told you to run away with that boy? Who? Maleficent?"

Fauna almost laughed at the notion. "Heavens, no!" She was trying to be gentle, because Merryweather now seemed genuinely upset about the matter, but it all seemed so long ago to Fauna. The boy was long dead, and now, so was Mistress Joy. The real, lasting consequence had been her treacherous involvement in wicked fairy matters in this war, and instead, Merryweather wanted to dwell on the distant past. "It was Mistress Joy. You remember her?"

Merryweather turned a wide-eyed gaze upon her. "We only just met her two years ago, Fauna!"

Fauna shook her head. "We met her hundreds of years ago when we vacationed here. We were scarcely more than children then, and one day on the beach, she yelled at us to be quiet. The later that night I was walking by myself and we...talked." She shrugged, an unsuccessful attempt at nonchalance.

"You talked," Merryweather echoed flatly.

"We talked about..." How had it even come about? "She asked why we were there, and I mentioned that Mother and Father wanted to retire there, and she said...something like she couldn't imagine. Spending her life with someone. And that it was an accomplishment."

Merryweather groaned. "Of course she couldn't imagine, Fauna! She was a wicked fairy!"

Fauna frowned. She'd been taught all her life that wicked fairies didn't know anything about love or kindness or the joy of helping others, and to be certain, the vast majority her own interactions with the wicked fae had reflected that. But what Mistress Joy had said to her had stuck with her in an indescribable way. She wasn't certain whether, at the time, she had been bound by duty and love for her sisters or by cowardice, but either way, she hadn't been able to follow Joy's advice then. She still wasn't certain, after five hundred years, if she fully understood or knew how to follow it. But she had always privately believed very strongly in its validity.

"Anyway, I asked her if she'd ever been in love, and she didn't answer me," Fauna continued, ignoring Merryweather's exaggerated hand gestures of incredulity. "She asked if I had, instead. I told her it was impossible to be with him, and she..." Fauna paused, for she found that her voice had quite suddenly caught in her throat.

She remembered the handsome young man who had been so kind to her, who had asked her about what it was like to be a fairy and told her about what it was like to be a human, who had walked along the shore with her late at night and told her about what humans called the constellations in the stars.

"She told me that you can't please everyone," Fauna continued quietly. "Someone is always going to be unhappy with what you're doing, even if you're following all the rules."

He'd asked her to extend her vacation just a little longer, to go traveling with him for a time, and in her heart she had known that if she left with him she would never be able to pry herself away. She didn't even remember his name now. Perhaps she'd purposefully forgotten it. Perhaps it had been too painful to hold onto.

"She said that not every fairy gets to experience love, and that I shouldn't..." she sighed. "I shouldn't throw away my chance."

But she had. She'd had to. And of course she couldn't have left her whole family like that. She'd have had to live in seclusion with her human lover somewhere, hoping that someday after a few decades her sisters would accept her choice, even if they didn't understand it. And then after a decade or two of real happiness, he'd have grown old and died.

"I don't regret my decision," said Fauna, though her voice did not quite match her words. "In my head, I know how it would have turned out. But in my heart..."

She rested her elbows on the windowsill and looked out upon the Sea Kingdom, the home of so many happy memories, and so many bittersweet ones. She realized that in her mind, her human lover was still alive here, even though in reality he must have been dead for over four hundred years.

"In my heart, sometimes I wonder whether it's worse never to know what might have been."

Hesitantly, Merryweather came to her side and laid her head on her shoulder, and together in silence they watched the waves roll over the shore.

After some time had passed, Fauna sensed that Merryweather wanted to say something, but she struggled to summon the courage. It was a rare thing for Merryweather to hesitate before she spoke, but when at last she did, Fauna understood.

"I was afraid we were doing the same thing to Rose," said Merryweather, and her voice, normally so sure and so sound, was weak and uncertain. Fauna remembered how vehement she had been.  _Why does she have to marry some silly old prince, anyway?_

It had been Flora who had been so insistent on the necessity of fulfilling one's duty. Not devoid of sympathy, certainly, but she couldn't have fully understood the parallels that Merryweather had been drawing. Flora had always been devoted to her duty above all else, and she had failed to fully understand anyone who wasn't.

"I just wanted her to be happy," said Merryweather, and now she sounded close to tears. "I thought if she got her boy she'd be happy, but she wasn't, and I didn't know what to do, and I...and we..."

Merryweather pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle a sob. Fauna narrowly resisted the urge to look at her in shock. Instead she clasped Merryweather's free hand tightly in her own and said nothing.

After a moment, Merryweather at stopped crying, but she was still tense, as though she had something more to say. "Rose loves those wicked fairies," she managed, her voice hoarse, but firm. "I'm just afraid it's going to end badly."

Fauna's brow furrowed, and she shook her head sadly. "But what has trying to keep her from them done but end badly?" she countered. "Just because..." And again her voice was halted by the melancholy associated with her own personal choices. "Just because it might end badly...doesn't mean it should never begin."

They referred to the wicked fairies as a unit, but there was an unspoken understanding beginning to settle onto them that they'd yet to fully acknowledge. Rose didn't just love 'those wicked fairies.' She loved Maleficent. That was too much to say out loud just yet. Perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps Maleficent had gone away for good, or at least for a very long time, and it wasn't something they needed to worry about.

"Maybe," said Merryweather. "I just wish...I wish I knew what to do, Fauna. If Flora were here, she'd just tell us what to do, but even then, I can't..." she sighed, shook her head. "I don't want Rose to be unhappy anymore. And I don't want her to hate me anymore."

"She doesn't hate you, Merryweather!" Fauna exclaimed, surprised yet again.

Merryweather met her gaze. "But what if there's no way to make up for what we've done to her?"

Fauna hesitated before she responded. In her heart she knew that their little Rose, the girl they had raised from infancy, was the most kind-hearted and forgiving soul this world had ever known. But so much had changed since then, and so much of it had been largely their fault in one way or another. As much as Fauna wanted to believe that Rose could and would truly forgive them one day, she wasn't certain.

Merryweather's words were also a sort of apology to Fauna, for what had happened half a millenium ago. She'd drawn those parallels between Fauna and Rose because she was afraid that Fauna's decision to stay with her sisters instead of pursuing her ill-advised love affair had made Fauna unhappy.

And perhaps, Fauna realized, she had held a small amount of resentment towards her sisters. She hadn't even realized it, hadn't even noticed it, but it was there in her sudden rebellion, in her insistence upon helping Mistress Joy to her own and her sisters' detriment, and in her quiet longing for what could never be.

"I guess we'll just have to try," she said at last, both to Merryweather and to herself.

Fauna would have to try. Try to regain Rose's trust, and try to foster her own forgiveness. She could not control what Rose would do, nor should she even wish to. But she could control how she moved forward from here.

* * *

Zenovia's alarm was not an obnoxious, loud ringing contraption like Kinsale's. It was a series of insidious, low tones that resonated through all the land over which Zenovia held dominion. The tone would wake Zenovia from a dead sleep, as would anything from the rustling of papers to the flapping of an owl's wings, but it would not alert a hypothetical intruder that he had been noticed. If he were smart, it would merely imbue him with a nagging sense of dread that might persuade him to turn back. Then again, if he were smart, he might have thought better of intruding upon Zenovia in the first place.

As it happened, Zenovia was wide awake when her alarm sounded for the first time in several decades. She'd been staring at the same page in a new book her owl had delivered this morning for an hour or more, intermittently stopping to check in on her patient. Not that Kinsale needed quite as much checking in as she received, but Zenovia felt overwhelmingly unsettled by her presence and by the choices which had led her to be here and in this state, and so she remained in a state of anxious hyper-vigilance, the likes of which she had not experienced for a century.

When the alarm sounded, she went out onto her balcony, not because she was particularly concerned about the intrusion, but for lack of anything better to do, and surveyed the area. High above her, a dark shadow against the crystal clear night sky, was the distinctive outline of a very particular dragon, shortly followed by another, smaller one.

Maleficent made no move to land, nor did she make any indication that she had seen Zenovia. She and what must be the adolescent dragonet that had briefly featured in Queen Titania's confusing tale, flew over Zenovia's fortress and into the mountains without so much as slowing down.

Zenovia closed her eyes and leaned her head back, breathing in the crisp night air. It was nearly summer now, but the Mountainlands were cold at night almost year-round, a quality which often deterred the faint of heart from taking up residence here. It took a particular sort of person to tolerate such interminable cold and darkness.

"Your alarm went off," said Kinsale behind her. The sound almost startled her—she hadn't even heard Kinsale's footsteps. Perhaps she was more tired than she realized.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

Kinsale chuckled. It was a light, musical sound. "Don't misunderstand me; I find your overprotectiveness delightful, but I don't think a little walk will do me in."

"Overprotectiveness. Really," Zenovia scoffed reflexively, but she found she wasn't feeling particularly contentious. She opened her eyes and took in the bright, starry sky above her. "Maleficent is here. In dragon form, with the young dragonet."

Kinsale inhaled as though to say something, but no words came.

"I doubt she'll be amenable to talking anytime soon," said Zenovia.

Kinsale let out the breath she'd been holding and took a few more steps—light, hesitant footfalls. Zenovia could see Kinsale's profile in her periphery, only slightly illuminated by the light of the moon.

"I was rather cruel to her the last time we spoke," said Kinsale quietly.

"Were you?" Zenovia wondered. "Or has your propensity for unnecessary pleasantries deluded you into believing that speaking the truth is an act of cruelty?"

"You don't even know what I said."

"Did you say something to hurt her?"

"Of course not, I only—"

"Then I stand by my original postulation."

Kinsale was silent for awhile. Zenovia still hadn't looked at her, and she couldn't pinpoint exactly why she was avoiding doing so. They'd had a troubling interaction earlier, perhaps, but in all likelihood it had been nothing but a trick of Zenovia's mind. She'd spent so long shut away from other fairies that she hadn't any idea how to interact with them anymore, and even the slightest oddities seemed like grand, important moments when really, they were nothing. Surely that must be all.

"I suppose you might be right..." Kinsale began. "...about me." Her voice became suddenly tremulous, and Zenovia, infamous warrior and ruthless tactician, felt a surge of panic like nothing she'd known in more than seven hundred years. Now more than ever, she kept her eyes steadfastly trained upon the stars. She sought out constellations, imagined her own, anything to avoid focusing her attention on whatever was happening at the edge of her vision.

"Maybe I dress everything up in pleasantries so I can..." her voice broke again. "So I can pretend that I'm better than I am. That I'm kinder or wiser or..."

"Or?"

"A good person," said Kinsale. "Someone who is capable of goodness."

Zenovia relented and turned to face her, but she could not quite bring herself to make eye contact. "I thought you of all fairies would realize we're all capable of goodness and wickedness in equal measure."

"I...it's..." Kinsale sighed and wrapped her arms around her body. "Just because you say something, insist upon it, doesn't mean you really believe it."

Now Zenovia looked at her face, for Kinsale had cast her eyes downward. She wondered how many of the things about Kinsale that she'd found impossibly annoying had been desperate attempts at self-acceptance in a world that forever tried to convince wicked fairies they ought not to exist. She wondered if she'd been a bit kinder, a bit more understanding, she'd have seen this side of Kinsale sooner. She wondered what it said about her character that she hadn't liked Kinsale very much before she'd seen her weakness.

Zenovia turned away and rested her hands on the balustrade. "You're a good enough person to have saved someone you can hardly stand," she said quietly.

Kinsale let out a small, surprised laugh. "Just because you can hardly stand me doesn't mean I feel the same way about you," she said. In her periphery, Zenovia saw Kinsale take a place beside her, draping her arms over the balustrade and leaning her head back to look up at the stars. "I've always admired you, Zenovia. I understand why you've never cared much for me—I'm not everyone's cup of tea. But I never resented you for it. I only wished from time to time you'd want to talk to me, because I wanted to know what you might have to say."

Zenovia clenched her hands into fists and closed her eyes. "Isn't there anyone in this world you've ever hated, Kinsale?"

Kinsale was silent for a moment. "No, I don't suppose so. When I was younger, perhaps. But I realized sometime after Maleficent left me that we're all of us just doing the best that we can. You can't really fault anyone for that."

"What of Mistress Sara?" Zenovia challenged.

Again, Kinsale was quiet for a long moment. "I don't excuse what she's done in the course of my lifetime, certainly. But..." she frowned, thought for another moment, then continued. "Think about what she once did for the people of the Sea Kingdom. In her mind, the situation was clear. Cordelia was a threat to the humans, and she was doing whatever it took to free them from her reign. No matter that some of the resources she used weren't easy to come by, no matter that Cordelia still had a young child to care for. Cordelia wasn't a real person to her, because that's how they're brought up to see us, you know. Not real people.

"And it's the same thing with Acacia. No matter what Acacia had or hadn't done, or was or wasn't capable of doing, Sara saw her as the daughter of the evil she'd spent her entire life battling, like the villain of the story who is vanquished only for a new evil to rise up to replace her. Because they were never real people to her. And so she, too, wasn't a complete person in her own mind, because she was lauded as this perfect hero by her people, not without good reason, certainly, but because she was always taught to believe it, and because her people so vehemently believed it, of course she came to believe that everything she did and thought was innately Good and couldn't possibly be wrong or evil or hurtful. How could she not?"

Kinsale paused and shook her head. "I used to hate good fairies for that, I think. Or I used to want desperately to change their minds. Maybe I still do, sometimes. But I found I couldn't keep using up all my energy on people who couldn't match it, nor could I waste time resenting them for that. Be it my mother who couldn't find it in herself to view me as anything but a threat, or Maleficent who couldn't find it in herself to love me back, or a good fairy who couldn't find it in herself to admit that her perception of me might be wrong."

Zenovia bit the inside of her cheek. The word,  _wrong_ , echoed over and over in her mind. "Or a wicked fairy?" she wondered quietly, speaking to the night sky.

Kinsale's breath hitched, so quietly Zenovia thought she might have imagined it. She didn't move or make any grand acknowledgement of what Zenovia's words had implied, and her focus remained steadfastly upon the beautiful night sky above them. Slowly, cautiously, Kinsale placed her hand atop Zenovia's.

The gentle touch sent an uncomfortable jolt through Zenovia's entire body, and she flinched involuntarily.

Kinsale withdrew her hand and backed away a few steps. "I'm sorry," she said.

Zenovia met her eyes at last, but she felt a bit like a wild animal, unable to form a coherent thought or respond to the sensation coursing through her body. She hadn't realized how long it had been since anyone had touched her, let alone so gently. What was more, she could not possibly have imagined before she'd experienced it how desperately she wanted it. She was afraid to move, afraid even to exhale, for she knew in her very bones that this was a singular moment, and she could not let it slip away.

"I'll go, if you..."

Like a snap reflex, Zenovia reached out and grasped Kinsale's wrist. "Wait," she said.

Kinsale froze, eyes wide and searching. Perhaps out of habit, Zenovia's thumb had landed right on the pulse point in Kinsale's wrist, and she could feel that her heart was racing.

Zenovia knew what she'd intended, but now that the moment was upon her, now that Kinsale was so obviously awaiting whatever her next action would be, she could not bring herself to move forward. She still could not fully catch her breath—it came in small, shallow gasps, and she had half a mind to let go of Kinsale's wrist and retreat into solitude just as she'd done earlier when the mad idea had beset her. It was truly insane. It would not end well. She should leave now. She should just...

With her free hand, Zenovia grasped Kinsale's waist and pulled her close. She kissed Kinsale with a kind of reckless fury, suddenly overcome by crashing waves of longing she hadn't realized she'd been holding back. Kinsale gasped against her lips, and Zenovia was utterly lost in the deluge.


	32. The Song

Briar Rose spent the next several weeks learning more of healing than she'd even brushed upon before the war had broken out.

Once she was well enough, Rose took to long, meandering walks throughout the Sea Kingdom's capital village and surrounding beaches. She left her room shortly after she woke and did not return until the sun hung low in the sky. When someone under the Fairy Queen's employ brought her dinner, she was always accompanied by the Queen or Fauna and Merryweather, and they always made some remark about being unable to find her all day.

She felt a bit guilty at first, but she continually strove to render herself unreachable to them. Instead of feeling sorrow in her loneliness, she began to relish it. She was feeling strange and new, in a state of transience, and as though no one around her could possibly understand the extent of the changes taking root within her. Though she felt lonely and isolated, she also knew she must spend this time alone.

She had a great deal to consider in the days and weeks and months to come, and she found that more than anything she wanted the decisions that lay ahead of her to be largely her own, not influenced by those who surrounded her with their well-meaning pressing and suggesting and posturing and reconsidering.

They had all changed a great deal. Rose knew this even without having known them very well a few years ago when all of this began. They were both softer and harder, more open and more vulnerable, more thoughtful and more curious, all of them, Aunt Fauna, Aunt Merryweather, the Queen...even perhaps the King, in his quiet, distant way. They were less apt to throw about meaningless niceties or condescend to Rose, or talk over her, and that made them all infinitely more bearable to be around.

But now that the immediate and overwhelming mortal danger had passed, what had passed between them all those months ago, when Rose had been bound in magical Chains and left defenseless and half-dead, could not be forgotten so easily. Rose realized that though she knew she could forgive them, and wanted desperately to do so, to achieve it truly and completely would take time—perhaps even more than she fully realized.

There was still the matter of Rose's duty to the throne of the Eastern Kingdom, but that seemed a distant and unimportant concern at the moment. Her family had begun subtly pressuring her to return to what they considered her home, and she had mostly managed to ignore them. She wasn't clear on the exact political situation, and her family didn't want to discuss politics with her, but from what she had gleaned in her brief time there before the final battle, the two neighbouring kingdoms, North and East, intended to merge despite the Princess Aurora's apparent departure from her husband, and to force acceptance of Philip as their king whenever Stefan should pass, but that event was likely many years down the line, and much could change during the remainder of a lifetime.

Then there was the offer from the Fairy Queen, that Briar Rose, a human sorceress, might study her magic in the Sky Kingdom. The offer was appealing largely for its many unknown factors, and Rose longed more than ever for the counsel of her lost wicked fairy allies on the matter, as on so many others.

But again, now that the immediate threat of annihilation had passed, Rose did not know exactly where she would stand with them. She had made a dreadful show of betraying them rather recently, in a fit of panic, and though nothing truly disastrous had come of her cowardly treachery, that was nothing short of miraculous happenstance. Rose could have been the death and the utter destruction of those she held dear despite their terrifying power, of those she'd sought to aid despite their many differences, those who had given her a grander life than she might ever have known despite their hesitancy.

Zenovia had left with Kinsale before Kinsale had awoken, and though Rose understood her motivation, she wondered whether she would be welcome if she followed wherever they'd gone, even without the crowding and pressing and chattering of her family from the Eastern Kingdom. She asked one of the Fairy Queen's aides to help her to compose a letter, for as much as her reading had improved, her writing was still a bit of a disaster, especially since she had fallen out of practice.

She kept the language a bit cryptic, for she remembered Kinsale mentioning that perhaps Zenovia was not merely averse to receiving mail for personal reasons, but for safety reasons, as well, and she did not allow the Fairy Queen's aid to send the message. Instead, she kept it with her as she wandered the Sea Kingdom, until the day she came across a flock of bluebirds.

It came as a surprising relief to find that the bluebirds still took to her as they always had, and she sat and talked with them for hours, as she once had for the vast majority of her life. She thought of the last time she'd sat and talked with bluebirds before all this had begun, the way she'd told them of the dream she'd had of a handsome prince who swept her away from her dull life, and who promised some foreign thing known as a kiss—close, so close...but she always woke up, flushed and confused and disappointed.

Briar Rose couldn't remember the last time she'd had a proper dream. Now her dreams were all twisted and strange, and quickly turned to nightmares. She thought of the handsome prince who'd charmed her for a day and the mysterious fairy who'd captured her soul for what seemed a lifetime, and she let out a sigh far sadder than the one she'd expressed to the bluebirds a few years prior.

As she leaned her head back to look up at the trees, she saw an owl half-hidden among the branches, watching and listening just as the little birds did.

"Hello there," she said to it with a little smile. "Could I ask you for a favour?"

The bird crooned his assent and fluttered somewhat hesitantly down to greet her. Some of the bluebirds scattered warily, but most sensed that the owl was no threat to them so long as Rose's magical gift kept it in good spirits. Rose nodded pleasantly and withdrew her letter.

"Take this to the fortress in the Mountainlands for me? There'll be other birds there keeping watch, no doubt, but please see that it gets through?"

Despite the way their appearance could turn from frightening to absurdly silly, owls were highly intelligent birds with an air of nobility about them, and Briar Rose would trust the task of delivering a message to Zenovia to no other creature.

She remained among the creatures of the little glen in the Sea Kingdom for the rest of the day, more and more of them gathering around to chatter at her with each passing hour, and again she was overwhelmed by how much she had missed the comfort of their presence, aided by a magic she hadn't even noticed coursing through her veins before.

When the sky above her was nearly dark, and she could see the beginnings of stars twinkling between the branches of the trees overhead, Briar Rose closed her eyes and began to hum, low, quiet, endlessly hesitant.

A hush fell over her little gathering of woodland creatures as she began to sing, and as her confidence grew, as she felt more and more certain that she had not lost her song those many months ago to the Chains of Avasina.

Her lips formed no words. Indeed, there might be no words to describe the way she felt in that moment. But her melody rose and she stood and danced through the sparse forest surrounding the village, trailed by happy animals who dared not interrupt her, but swirled around her in their own unique dances, each of them unknowingly touched by her magic. Rose threw back her head and sang to the night sky, to the stars as they shone brighter and brighter and the moon as it rose. She sang to Zenovia and Kinsale who had left her to recover in their own way, to Aunt Flora who had raised her, but who had never truly seen her, never truly known her, and now would never be afforded the opportunity to do so, and to Maleficent, who had in a way heard her song before anyone else.

She sang for things past and things yet to come. She sang in hope that her letter would reach its destination and acceptance if it did not achieve its end. She sang for herself, for all the fractured pieces that comprised Briar Rose, as they slowly gathered together to become whole again.

* * *

_Temple...abdomen...leg._

A cool rush of healing magic where there had once been sweet, tender, comforting warmth. Kinsale's flesh tingled deliciously, and she hummed with contentment as she drifted into consciousness.

Zenovia sat next to her, perched upon a stool, expression fixed in its usual position of utter displeasure. Perhaps it was foolhardy of her, but Kinsale could not help but feel a rush of fondness upon witnessing this familiar face above her. She reached a lazy hand out to graze Zenovia's arm. Zenovia frowned at it in passing, but kept at her healing work.

"Good morning to you, too," said Kinsale, her high spirits not even slightly dampened.

"Morning, indeed," Zenovia replied curtly. "You've slept through an entire day and into the next afternoon. It's...I oughtn't to have..." she finished her sentence with a gruff  _hmph_ , but now Kinsale could clearly see that her expression of displeasure was directed inward.

Kinsale inhaled deeply and assessed her body. She felt very well-rested and infinitely contented. It had been...why, at least a decade since she'd experienced any sort of intimacy at all, let alone been so thoroughly satisfied. Preexisting injuries seemed rather trivial when weighed against her general feeling of wellness.

"Don't tell me you're beating yourself up about this," Kinsale sighed.

"It was highly irresponsible. Unprofessional, even," Zenovia snapped. "Your wellbeing is my responsibility."

"Darling, aside from a few life-threatening injuries, I haven't felt better in years," Kinsale replied airily. "Come, lie down with me."

Zenovia scowled in a manner Kinsale imagined many found fearsome, but she couldn't help but feel the tiniest flicker of amusement.

"Not a cuddler?" she teased.

Somehow, impossibly, Zenovia's frown deepened. She held out her hands and applied the healing spells—temple, abdomen, leg—with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, muttered, among other things, "get some rest" and "insufferable," and disappeared.

Kinsale did her best not to allow Zenovia's foul mood to darken her own, and she drifted back into a hazy, restless sleep not long after Zenovia had departed, but somewhere in her chest she felt as though a tiny flicker of hope had been extinguished, and she realized that she hadn't even known it was there before it was gone.

* * *

"Always crawling back here looking like a drowned rat," Zenovia muttered in the general direction of the shadowy dragon who swooped past her study window every half hour or so. She wondered how this feeling compared to that of being a parent. She'd watched Maleficent grow and learn and struggle and succeed and fail since she was barely old enough to travel on her own, and she knew Maleficent had returned to her now because she was too weak to stand alone, too lost to know where to go next, and without anywhere else to go even if she had a sense of her next direction.

Zenovia's own mother had been almost consistently cruel, but she'd been dead for nearly a millennium now, and when Zenovia remembered the months she'd spent with festering boils all over her skin that no healing spell would cure, or dreadful, screeching voices in her mind that no noise would drown out and no reason would mollify, they were only accompanied by a vague unpleasantness and not the sickening rage nor the aching betrayal, nor even the staggering guilt she'd felt for the first few hundred years.

Zenovia had never in her life known anyone on whom she could rely for much of anything. She'd had sisters who loved her dearly, but she knew they hadn't even realized how much they depended on her. She'd spent her childhood caring for them, teaching them everything she possibly could. She couldn't remember when exactly she'd realized she would have to take her mother's life. It seemed like it had been a gruesome knowledge ingrained in the very marrow of her bones. She had spent night after night listening to neglected infants wailing, bound to this world by the body of a wicked fairy, a creature so accustomed to neglect that it had learned to survive nearly anything, and she had known that she could not leave them to fend for themselves. Even if they could—even if they could survive this torment—she would not allow it.

Maleficent was not like Zenovia's sisters. She had been the youngest, but her elder sisters had not been strong enough to protect her from her mother's wrath. In this way, Maleficent was, had always been, very much like Zenovia—perhaps occasionally uncomfortably so. Zenovia saw in her ersatz protege her own youthful floundering for some sort of stasis amid a chaotic world, her own stubborn unwillingness to allow well-meaning fairies to care for her.

Realizing her failing in this matter was not enough, however, and Zenovia had no idea how she ought to move forward. The imminent danger to her well-being had passed, and she had no more sisters to protect. Indeed, all that she had to her name was a fortress made to keep everyone out and a few more scattered across the earth in case the first one was not discouraging enough.

Outside, the dawn had just begun to break, and Zenovia could hear the distant flapping of owl's wings. As they drew nearer, Zenovia could see that there were two owls approaching, and the force of her discontent brought her to her feet.  _Two owls_  to carry her letters this morning! She would have to have another word with the owl who was sorting her mail on the matter of communications he deemed necessary.

But when they landed on her windowsill, Zenovia realized that the second owl was not familiar to her, and each of them only carried one note. Now, left with nothing but the vague remnant of misdirected irritation, she clenched and unclenched her fists, offered treats to each of the owls, snatched up the notes, and sent them brusquely on their way. Who had sent her an owl that insisted on taking its message directly to her windowsill?

The note from Zenovia's own owl also came as a bit of a surprise, though perhaps after all these years it shouldn't. Zenovia's niece—or more precisely, her great-grandniece—had written her at least once a month since she'd been a young child, despite the fact that Zenovia had never once responded. The correspondence had ceased during the height of the war, and Zenovia had feared that the one remaining relative who bothered to contact her might have died.

She realized as she held the note in her hand that her relative's well-being had mattered a great deal more to her than she'd previously believed. Whatever she said, whatever she thought, she had left the letters unanswered out of fear for her family's safety, not because she did not wish to keep receiving them. If that had ever been the case, she'd have had no qualms telling the owls to rip them up.

My dear Aunt Zenovia,

I am pleased to hear word that the war has officially come to an end, though I'm told some fighting is still at large on the mainland near our island. Business as usual, I suppose, yet for someone so important as yourself I am certain the official status of the war changes much.

I've just discovered I'm carrying my third child, and as of yesterday my man has gone on his merry way. Things were good between us, but you know how it is. Nothing is eternal. In some ways, it was time he left, and yet I think I shall miss him a bit in the weeks to come.

I wish I could write you with happier news, but I suppose it isn't a very happy world we live in. As always, the invitation to come over for dinner stands. I hope this letter finds you well.

With love,  
Elysia.

It was nearly identical to the thousands of other letters Elysia had written her—brief updates on her life and an invitation to visit, and so why should it be this letter that so touched Zenovia's heart?

She folded it carefully and took up the other note, the one which had been carried by the unfamiliar owl. This note was written on the Fairy Queen's stationery.

Dear Zenovia,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that Kinsale is feeling better. It's a bit lonely here now that you've left, even with all these people around. I find myself with endless possibilities before me, but no one who can offer me real advice. I wonder if you would mind terribly having a visitor for a short while.

Best,  
Rose

How curious. Zenovia knew well that a century without companionship had left her less personable than ever before, and yet in this moment it seemed that she was inundated with fairies and even a human who for some reason desired her presence.

Strange though that might be to contemplate, what was considerably more disconcerting was that Zenovia felt the overwhelming desire to oblige.

She'd felt immensely uncomfortable sitting among the princess's family, but she had felt very good about acquiescing to Briar Rose's personal request for her presence. It had felt nice to be wanted, not merely for her skill or any other discernable reason, and she realized that in this moment, these requests felt the same. Her great-grandniece had extended her a dinner invitation for upwards of three hundred years despite the fact that she must have realized by now Zenovia would likely never respond, Briar Rose had asked to come for a visit ostensibly because she, too, felt ill at ease amongst those who were once close to her, and Kinsale...

Kinsale, despite what might be countless rejections, only a few of which Zenovia was personally aware, was offering Zenovia a chance at something new. Additionally, though it came as something of a shock to her, it was something Zenovia wanted very much.

Zenovia found herself with the unique opportunity to move forward in an entirely new direction. She could ignore or rebuff both of these letters, avoid Kinsale aside from what was necessary for healing purposes and then send her on her merry way...or she could take this chance, now when she was feeling somehow so new, to reach out. She could, possibly, with a great deal of concentrated effort, allow these people to come into her life.

Were Zenovia another fairy, she might have had a hearty laugh at her own expense. Instead, she set her mouth in a firm line and nodded to herself. She would try, she decided. She would continue to mentor the human sorceress Briar Rose, she would finally respond to one of Elysia's letters, and she would...well, she would try to allow for...something...with Kinsale.

The dragon swooped by her window again and Zenovia sighed and shook her head. She wondered what disastrous conclusions Maleficent was drawing about her own future, sequestered away in the body of a beast.

* * *

By the time Briar Rose made her way back to Sara's fortress, the sky was utterly dark but for the light of the stars and the waning moon. The Sea Kingdom was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and it was a comfort to see a clear night sky again now that most of the magical residue had begun to fade away.

Idly, Rose dragged her fingertips along the smooth stone of the outer walls as she walked, not quite ready to go inside just yet. Even though here she was free to come and go as she pleased, there was still something very confining about a castle when compared with the sixteen years she had spent in the woods, and the many months she had spent camping with the wicked fairies during the height of the war.

The outermost gate to Sara's infamous dungeon now hung open, a symbolic gesture meant for those Sara had oppressed during her reign. She still had many supporters, especially in the Sea Kingdom, but thus far they had not caused much ado, likely because of Rose's continued presence. Rose imagined things would heat up once she left, and certainly once proceedings for Sara's trial began.

Rose's fingers caught on one of the bars and she paused, certain for just a moment that she'd heard a voice. Silly, she told herself. Even left open and empty, Sara's dungeon was a foreboding presence. No one could say for certain how many fairies had been held and tormented and left for dead in that place since its construction. Just being near its gates, one felt as though the spirits of the dead still lingered there.

But in reality, the dungeon was nothing but an empty room now. The gates creaked ominously in the night breeze, and all the living prisoners therein had either been set free or relocated to the Sky Dominion. No one could possibly still be inside—

"Hello?"

It was strange, like a voice coming from inside her own mind, and the sensation turned Rose's stomach. She'd spent far too much time trapped inside herself, plagued by memories and half-remembered nightmares and voices that might or might not be real. She had half a mind to run inside at once and shroud herself in blankets despite the summer warmth until her ears rang from the pressure and drowned out that tiny, haunting  _hello_.

"Is someone there...?"

But Rose could not walk away without ever knowing. She pushed through the first dungeon gate, then the second, then the third, stomach churning so intensely she thought she might be sick. Was she losing her mind? Was some otherworldly voice or half-memory dragging her into this wretched place from which few had ever managed to escape and of which no one dared speak even now that it was abandoned?

Two more gates, both hanging open, creaking in the gentle breeze. There was that dreadful smell Rose tried to forget here—the smell of death and decay, and the air felt heavier and heavier as she passed through each gate.

"Someone is there!" the voice exclaimed, closer now, and more obviously corporeal. Rose felt a tremendous wave of relief.

"I was afraid you were inside my head," Rose told the voice. She hadn't quite dared to cross the final threshold into the room. She felt dizzy and lightheaded, and she grasped at the open gate to keep her balance.

The voice let out a choking, strangled chuckle. "I thought perhaps I was dead after all, and no one could hear me yelling. At least a dozen people have passed by this place since I awoke as though they didn't hear."

Rose squinted against the pitch-blackness, but no one had bothered to leave the sconces lit. The prisoners had been released or relocated if they still lived, but the dead hadn't been moved yet...Rose rather hoped someone intended to move them eventually, but she had tried not to give the matter too much thought.

"Where are you?" she asked the voice as she conjured a small fireball in the palm of her hand. She started a little at the curious sensation of magic flowing through her veins...she hadn't used anything that wasn't directly related to healing in at least a month.

"Over here." In the shadow of her little flame, Rose could see the outline of a petite hand waving from one of the cells. As she approached, she saw that the woman was very small and had the same charred greyish skin like the wicked fairies who had suffered severe burns, and that her legs were sprawled out at disconcerting angles.

"Still broken," said the mysterious wicked fairy, gesturing to her legs. Then she looked up at Rose with eyes so pale they reflected the light from Rose's fire, and she offered Rose a small smirk. "Never get old, kid," she said. "My body sure as Hades doesn't heal like it used to."

This wicked fairy didn't look old at all. She didn't look any older than any other wicked fairy Rose had ever met.

It had never occurred to Briar Rose that she might be able to carry another person any measurable distance, but she imagined now that she'd be able to carry this fairy with no problem, and it was a curious realization. Just as Maleficent had once promised her, magic had made her physically stronger than she'd ever dreamed possible. The wicked fairy wasn't wearing Chains—she had been left for dead. Rose let her fireball extinguish and knelt to pick up the wounded wicked fairy.

"Do you suppose anyone else here is still alive?" Rose wondered, but the way the words came out didn't make it seem like a happy thought.

"Not likely," said the wicked fairy. "At least I haven't heard anyone so much as stir. But I'm no healer fairy, to be certain."

Rose felt a lump forming in her throat, for the untold fairies who had been lost to Sara's reign, for this fairy and her broken legs and her sad voice, and for what little she could offer in the way of assistance. She wasn't much of a healer, herself. She keenly remembered Maleficent's legs when she'd been rescued from this place, the way they'd been thin as twigs and twisted in unnatural directions while they healed. Rose had received a broken leg once in one of her early battles with Zenovia, but the pain had been so intense she had mostly blocked the experience from her conscious memory. She hadn't the faintest idea how she'd managed to heal it.

"Tell me, my Gallant Rescuer, what's happened here?" the fairy wondered as they exited the dungeon. "Last I remember the place was running as usual, all groaning tortured prisoners and whatnot, then next thing, it's like someone torched the place. Gates hanging open and not a sound or a soul in sight."

Shaken from her troubled reverie, Rose let out a small huff of laughter and looked up at the clear night sky. "Sara was arrested and taken to the Sky Dominion for trial," she said. "All her living prisoners were released or relocated weeks ago."

"Arrested?" the fairy echoed incredulously. "For what?"

"Torturing a human, mostly, I think," Rose replied, but saying the words aloud still turned her stomach, and she rather hoped she wasn't called upon to elaborate.

"Torturing a—?" There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the fairy broke into a loud, uproarious cackle that chilled Briar Rose to the bone. "Torturing a human! Who'd have thought that was what would finally put her away!"

Rose bit the inside of her mouth. She didn't find it very funny, and she suddenly wondered whether this particular wicked fairy might perhaps live up to her name.

The fairy laughed for another minute or so before she took note of Rose's stony silence. "I'm sorry, dearie, really, I know it isn't funny," she said. "Friend of yours?"

Rose swallowed hard. "Something like that."

When they made it inside, Rose took the fairy to the little room Zenovia had used as a makeshift hospital for her and Kinsale. She blew a bit of fire into the strange sconces that somehow amplified light so that the room became bright as daytime, and set to work healing the fairy's broken legs. As the left leg righted itself with a loud crack, the fairy shot Rose a look of pleasant disbelief. "I knew you must be a sorceress, but who'd have thought you were an expert healer?" she remarked. "Thank you, dearie, really. My Gallant Rescuer in every way."

Rose felt a genuine smile cross her features. "I studied hard in the hope that I could actually be of help to someone someday," she said, almost to herself.

"Rose, are you still up?" came Fauna's sleepy voice from the hallway.

"Fauna?" the wicked fairy responded incredulously.

"No one's been able to find you all—" Fauna appeared in the doorway, and all the colour abruptly drained from her face.

The wicked fairy considered Fauna, then Rose. "Why, that must make you the infamous Princess of the Eastern Kingdom! Silly me, foregoing a proper introduction in a time of personal crisis."

"You're—I thought you—you were—" Fauna stammered.

"Yes, yes, to be fair, I rather thought I was dead, as well," said the wicked fairy with a dismissive wave of her hand, "but we wicked fae are very difficult to kill completely, you know."

"Who are you?" Rose breathed, utterly mystified by the exchange she was witnessing.

"My, but my courtly etiquette has gone rusty during my time in captivity," said the wicked fairy cheerfully. "I am Mistress Joy, formerly of the Desertlands. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm sure, your Highness."


	33. The New Beginning

Though Briar Rose spent the next several days constantly at Mistress Joy's side, they rarely talked. Joy was always conversational, but Rose found herself utterly tongue-tied now that she knew she was in the presence of a living legend.

Mistress Joy was of Zenovia's generation—would be around her age or older, something Rose and her...(and here she'd had to stop and think, for how much time had passed?)...why, her mere eighteen years of life...could scarcely fathom. When Rose could hardly read, Joy's biography had been the first Rose had ever attempted to piece together, and her story had broadened Rose's worldview immeasurably. Joy had served as the only wicked fairy counselor to the Fairy Queen, and she had nearly been put to death for her work on the trial of Mistress Acacia. Her story, her forbidden love for a good fairy, had opened Briar Rose's eyes to a whole world of possibilities she had never previously considered.

One day when Rose arrived to administer healing, Mistress Joy was on her feet, inspecting the tiny room with wide, glassy eyes. She was the first wicked fairy Rose had ever seen with light hair and eyes, but both were nearly the same shade as her skin. It was as though a person with no pigment to speak of had been coloured with seafoam. She was also a slight woman, smaller than Rose but bigger than Rose's aunties. It occurred to Rose that Joy might be about the size Rose had been before magic had caused her to grow.

"Mistress Briar Rose," she said. "Would you care to take a walk? I feel I'm well enough, and I'm sorely missing the fresh sea air."

"Oh—" Rose felt words catching in her throat. "Oh, of course."

Mistress Joy gestured to the door, and Rose turned on her heel and led the way outside.

"You've become very nervous around me since you learned of my name," said Mistress Joy as they exited the fortress.

"I..." Rose swallowed. "...read a bit of your biography... It seems like a lifetime ago."

"Mistress Kinsale's finest work, if I do say so," Joy replied pleasantly. "I'm sure you know she was very nearly Chained for it."

Rose could clearly recall Kinsale's hesitation in speaking about the matter at all, the way she'd grown soft-spoken and troubled when at last she'd confessed the truth, as though she'd hoped Rose would simply guess. "It was so strange the way Kinsale spoke of it," said Rose, almost to herself. "I've never since seen her so...contrite."

"Well," said Joy, "the threat of Chains is enough to give even someone as brash as Kinsale pause."

"The idea that two women could be lovers..." Rose paused, frowned as she attempted to put her thoughts into words, "...at the time, it was so utterly foreign to me that it seemed to tear to shreds everything I believed to be true." She'd looked at her forced marriage to Phillip and her complicated relationship with Maleficent in an entirely new light from that point onward. "But as time went by it was harder to tell why the relationship had to be edited. Was it because you were both women, or...?"

"Because Terra was of the Light Fae?" Joy finished for her. "It was difficult to say at the time, as well. What little society the dark fae possess has nearly always been either neutral or positive to relationships between two women, but the Light Fae operate differently, particularly in the Sky Dominion. The dark fae are disliked universally—perhaps most by ourselves—" Joy winked, as though she weren't saying something rather depressing, "—so my presence in the Sky Dominion as a counselor was already regarded with considerable hostility. When my relationship with Terra was uncovered, well..." Joy's lighthearted tone faltered, and when she continued, she sounded considerably older and sadder than she had not a moment prior.

"Put together a dark fairy, in a position of power, practicing one of those things from her culture the light fae hate so much—with one of their own, no less—and the fallout is bound to be..." she sighed quietly, "spectacular."

Rose found, somewhat to her own surprise, that she was leading them outside the borders of the city, towards one of countless battlefields that were now scattered across the earth. The garish clouds of leftover magic had cleared up in the city and the forest, but Rose could already see from a considerable distance that their remnants lingered in the air over the places where the most blood had been spilled.

She thought about what Joy had said for a moment, and about all the half-formed questions that had been whirling about in her head for who knew how long. Finally, she realized what she wanted to ask just now. "Were you ever...were you and Terra ever happy?"

Joy produced a small breath of derisive laughter. "No," she said, but there was no bitterness, no malice in her voice. "Not in the traditional sense. Never for more than a few hours. An afternoon, a night, a morning...but never more than just one at a time."

"If you weren't happy, why didn't you end it?" Rose wondered.

Joy's seafoam green eyes glazed over, as though she were no longer fully present in this moment. "Perhaps you won't understand this, and perhaps I ought to pray you never do, but it is difficult to let go of a future which holds such...promise." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "Even if the reality of the present seems hopeless."

"So, you..." Rose swallowed a lump that had begun to form in her throat in response to Joy's assertion. "You thought you could have been happy?"

Joy touched her hand to her heart. "I knew it," she said, as their path turned from paved road into soft grass. She turned her head to consider Rose. "It's a pointed question," she observed.

Rose averted her gaze, looked down at her shoes in the grass and remembered with longing the feeling of walking in the woods with bare feet.

"I don't suppose it's having to do with Mistress Maleficent?"

Rose nearly stumbled, and she felt her heart racing. She ran a hand through the charred remains of her hair nervously, and attempted to keep walking as before even though she knew she'd given herself away. "It's a bad idea," she said, voice wavering.

Joy stopped her with a hand upon her arm. "But you want to go after her still?"

"It's...it wouldn't..." but for the first time in their brief acquaintance, Rose looked fully into Mistress Joy's glassy seafoam eyes, and her shoulders sagged. She felt as though something had knocked the wind from her lungs, and at the same time lifted a tremendous burden from her chest. She was gasping for air, but at the same time, she could truly breathe. She felt something she'd been missing for what seemed forever. She felt as though Joy were truly looking at her, truly seeing her, and truly attempting to understand.

"It wouldn't end well," said Rose—words she would never have spoken to another soul. "Even if...even if she missed me, even if she wanted me, even if..." Rose shook her head miserably. "It's always been so complicated between us."

Joy left Rose's side slowly. For someone so slight of frame, she moved very deliberately, inhabited her space fully—the way, Rose realized suddenly, Maleficent, Kinsale, and Zenovia all did in their own unique way, and the way Rose's aunts and mother decidedly did not.

"Everything in this life is always more complicated than anyone would like it to be," said Joy. She waved her hand gently through the haze of lingering magic that had settled over the battlefield and her brow furrowed. "And I'll warn you, what I'm about to say is, at its core, only theoretical. Based on observation and introspection, not personal experience. I did my fair share of..." she closed her eyes, grasped a fistful of magical fog, released it— "...complicating things."

Joy opened her eyes, and Rose saw the magical haze that hung around them reflected over the glassy green. Captivated and not a little frightened, Rose took a step closer.

"Each of us has an entire lifetime to reconcile with anyone and everyone we meet. A lifetime of beliefs, of fears, of desires, of mistakes...some we'd half-forgotten until someone reminds us. And that's not even counting the personal history the two of you share, for example."

Joy turned her attention back to Rose, glassy eyes glazed over with sickly magic, yet still so piercingly clear. "But...life is long, Briar Rose. Compare a fairy to a mortal and one seems infinitely shorter, but life is the longest event any one of us shall ever embark upon." She smiled, a small, melancholy thing. "And moments?" She turned away, resumed taking slow, deliberate steps across the grass and the dirt that served as a battlefield.

"Moments are brief. The moment something inspires you, the moment something frightens you, the moment something calls you to action... If two people—two utterly disparate people, each with her own endless, transient lifetime—share a connection, even for one moment..." Joy stopped. "That is truly miraculous." She turned to face Briar Rose once more. "And though perhaps my personal life didn't exemplify it, this is what I believe in my heart to be true: whether that connection lasts a moment or a lifetime..." she averted her gaze once more "—it is worth a fighting chance."

With these words, Joy took fistfuls of the magical haze that ran through her fingers like sand, and she raised her head and her hands to the sky as though to call down some ancient force of nature. The sickly haze that hung over the battlefield began to twitch and jolt, as though tugged by tiny, invisible strings, all of them emanating from Joy. Gradually, in fractured increments, the haze of garish magical residue allowed itself to be tugged downward out of the sky, leaving a gentle, rainy greyness in its wake, and Joy was left with a sickly glow hanging about her, as though she were poisoned by the air she breathed.

Her slight body bowed and contracted and she hung her head low for a moment. Rose was stunned, unable to move and unable to think of what she might do if she could. Joy raised her shoulders slowly, straightened her back and lifted her head, and the magic came streaming from her once again, brighter and warmer and...somehow clean. It didn't look sickly or foreboding any longer, and it didn't fog up the rainy sky around it. Rather, the magic formed a big, bright, translucent rainbow, originating from Joy and shooting up into the clouds past where Rose could see.

Joy staggered backward from it, left her creation there, a glorious monument where there had once been only the remains of death and destruction, and Rose nearly fell to her knees before its beauty, but instead her feet at last dared to stumble forward and she caught Joy by the elbows.

Joy took a few moments to catch her breath. "My, but this world shall need a lot of healing. I hope Mistress Sara is happy with what she's wrought."

Rose remained breathless, almost panting. "How did you do that? What...did you do?"

Joy steadied herself and continued to walk in the direction they'd been heading before, inspected her rainbow as she passed and nodded curtly at it, as though she'd simply straightened some small thing and not turned madness into magic. "A little trick I learned from her Majesty's forces. They do it with a bit less finesse, I daresay. It's more like...taking in the magic, cleansing it, and using it to restore what was there before." Joy glanced back at her rainbow. "Perhaps it was an idea borne of the melodrama of youth, but I rather liked the idea of taking the tainted magic and using it to make something new."

Rose could not quite bring herself to look away from the rainbow. She felt faintly teary-eyed, felt as though there were some deeper meaning beneath it that tugged at her heart even though she could not put a name to it just yet. "Could..." she swallowed. "Could I learn to do that?"

Joy considered this for a moment. "It isn't easy," she said. "But you seem to have accomplished quite a lot in your brief tenure as a sorceress. I expect you could learn to do nearly anything you set your mind to."

"Mistress Zenovia was a good teacher."

"Zenovia taught you!" Joy exclaimed, and though delight crossed her features, it seemed somehow pained. "My, my, how things can change."

"I've...asked her if I might come and stay with her for a time," said Rose.

Joy laughed, loud and hearty, and Rose was stricken by the sound of it. It was something she noticed from time to time in every fairy she encountered—a kind of ethereal quality that couldn't be named, or even described very well. Something that set them distinctly apart from humans, or even from this world.

"You asked Zenovia to visit!" Joy echoed, still mirthful. "What did she say?"

Again, Rose ran her fingers through her hair, became somewhat distracted by the hard, brittle strands that turned into ash at the ends. "She said I could stay as long as i liked."

Joy looked as though the breath had been knocked out of her, still with a kind of delight glimmering in her eyes, but too completely taken aback to be amused any longer. "Zenovia. Told you. You could stay. As long as you liked?!" Joy threw her head back to the sky and let out a strange kind of yell, something like surprise and disbelief and...and overwhelming joy, for lack of a better word.

She turned back to Rose and took her by the shoulders, and though she was still smiling, there was a great seriousness hanging about her. "It seems I owe you my deepest thanks, Briar Rose," she said. "When last I heard of you, your presence had set a great many wheels into motion, and no doubt you feel the weight of the way this world has changed while you've been a part of it." Joy squeezed Rose's arms gently. "Though there is little I know of the last many months, this I can tell you with great certainty: whatever your presence has inspired in my friends has changed them. That my dear friend Zenovia would say such a thing is unthinkable—" she shook her head, still half-smiling "—but it warms my heart like you cannot imagine."

Rose felt her cheeks flush from the intensity of Joy's full attention, and she directed her smile more at the ground than at Joy. "I wondered if you might like to come with me," she said quietly. "Kinsale will still be there, too, I think—"

"I'm sorry, come again?"

"Kinsale? I said she'd be there, too, I mean—"

Joy staggered backward as though stricken. "Kinsale. Is in. Zenovia's. Home. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Well yes, I mean, they never got along particularly well..." Rose said slowly, "but they did share a room for months on end while we were in the middle of the war. And I didn't get the full story, but I get the idea that Kinsale must have more or less saved Zenovia's life, and so she was in pretty bad shape, and Zenovia hardly left her side while—"

Once again, Joy threw back her head and let out a rapturous cry to the stormclouds rapidly darkening above them. The sudden whoosh of pouring rain and crashing thunder did nothing to drown her uproarious laughter. Rose didn't understand, but she was happy to see Mistress Joy so happy, and so, she, too lifted her face to the rain and allowed herself to smile. In that moment, she felt as though her future might not look so entirely terrifying as it had a few moments prior. And after all, she had never minded a good downpour.

* * *

Joy sensed Fauna's approach before she heard her footsteps. She was glad to know the years and the trauma hadn't dampened her acute paranoia. "If you're here to ask me for love advice, I'm afraid I'm fresh out for one lifetime," she said in the direction of the setting sun. She'd been sitting cross-legged on her bed for the better part of the afternoon, watching the sky change and crying about Terra, of all things. She wasn't entirely ready to receive company.

"No, I...only wanted to ask how you were feeling."

A small breath of laughter escaped Joy's lips, more like a cough than anything, and it almost hurt. "No you didn't." There was no malice in her words, though she imagined they would traumatize Fauna nevertheless. She'd simply been alive too long to put up with that kind of bullshit.

As she'd anticipated, Fauna was taken aback, and her response was an unintelligible stammer. Joy surreptitiously wiped her eyes and turned to face her at last. "There, now, I didn't mean anything by it, Fauna, but speak plainly. It saves time."

Fauna's doe eyes gradually regained sentience, and she spoke once more, timidly, but with purpose. "I really did...want to know how you were feeling."

Joy shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."

Fauna's brow furrowed.

"And...?" Joy prompted.

"And...I wondered...what you...spoke to Rose about, earlier..."

Joy narrowly resisted groaning aloud, and settled instead upon a rather pointed sigh. "You know, Fauna, I sense that you have a hard time speaking your mind, but I assure you it makes everything so much easier when one manages it."

"I—"

"I've been rude again, I'm sorry," Joy sighed. "I swear by Hades I've never understood why people feel like they can share their troubles with me." From Fauna right on up to the Fairy Queen, herself.

Fauna was silent for a moment, but then she said something surprising. "Well...I'd guess it's because they know you'll be honest."

Joy considered Fauna for a moment, shook her head, and gestured to the chair by her bed. "Lucky me."

Fauna walked with small, scurrying steps, disproportionately tiny wings aflutter, and Joy took a moment to contemplate how curiously the light and dark fae had evolved over the millennia, with deviations from Joy to Zenovia, from Fauna to Sara.

"Briar Rose and I are leaving tomorrow," Joy began, and regretted her choice once again as Fauna acted as though she'd been stricken. She'd never quite known how to deliver news subtly. "Now, now, you must have known she'd no interest in going back to being your little princess," Joy chuckled at the notion of the troubled young warrior with the thoughtful eyes, whom she'd observed over the past weeks, as a demure political prop to be bandied about by some insignificant human monarchy. "I'm sure you'd like to be close with her, but forcing your desires onto another person isn't going to accomplish anything, Fauna, Hell's sake."

Fauna's lip trembled, but she considered this, then wondered, "What should I do?"

Joy covered her eyes. "Give her time, I guess? We've all of us got some healing to do after all this, you know, physical and mental. Take care of yourself. Rose has turned..." Joy almost laughed again, overcome by beautiful incredulity. "She's turned my friends, people I've known their whole lives, into her friends, in what? A year or two? That's...that's not a small feat, Fauna. She's made a life for herself. She's carving her own path. Just, you know...let her do it?"

Joy uncovered her face and immediately wished she hadn't. Fauna was crying. There was something particularly jarring about seeing someone cry just after one had, oneself, just been crying. Like,  _what am I supposed to do for you? Can't you see I am also not handling this well?_

"I can't lose her, Joy! What if she never comes back?"

Joy squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. "Time, Fauna. Just...give it time."

"She's a human! She hasn't any time!"

"A _little_  time!" Joy snapped, then did her best to soften her voice. "A little time. More than a few weeks. I'm going to start again, all right? Here's what's going to happen: Rose and I are going to the Mountainlands tomorrow. We're going to see our friends and all of us are going to do the best that we possibly can to deal with our emotions and our complications and whatever remains of our miserable lives. I suggest you do the same. You've come in here to talk to me—who might as well be a stranger to you, honestly, Fauna, for all you know about me—about Briar Rose, whom you raised from infancy, yet still seem to know nothing about, despite the fact that she's a bit of an open book when you get her talking—when you, yourself look like an absolute disaster!" Joy gestured to her erratically, and could not bring herself to care that she'd spoken rudely yet again.

"I mean, what's really bothering you, Fauna? You, personally? Are you still hung up about what might have been hundreds of years ago? Is that why you stare at me like I'm a spectre from your youth?" Joy laughed coldly, for she could see Fauna's answer written in her horrified epression.

"So you fell in love and decided not to follow through with it! So what! What good has ever come of clinging to someone when you know it's over? Do you know how...how  _fucking old_  I am, Fauna? Do you know how much shit I've seen? I've been in love a grand total of one time in my whole miserable existence—best thing I ever did with my damned time, and it amounted to less than nothing! Terra died because I couldn't let her go, and I nearly died because I—" the words caught in her throat as memories of Sara's torture came flashing to the surface "Because I...honestly...wanted my life to be over! I was done! I wanted to give up, because..." she swallowed, hard "...I thought there was nothing left for me without her."

Joy shook her head, bared her teeth. "But here the fuck I am, still alive," she said. "You want to know how I'm feeling, Fauna? Fucking miserable. Lifetimes have passed since Terra died, but sometimes it still feels like it was yesterday. I'm healing at the rate of molasses, because I'm as old as the dawn of Time, and even though your surrogate child is a damn good healer for having picked it up as a damn hobby a couple of years ago, everything hurts. My body hurts, my heart hurts, my soul hurts.

"But I'm alive." Joy hardly realized she was crying again. Her eyes stung from the effort, and the tears ran hot, but they might as well not have been there at all. "There are things and people left for me in this wretched world. And you're, what, half my age? Go live your life, Fauna!"

"I...I can't," Fauna wept. "I'm not brave. Not like you. Not like Rose. I had my chance and I couldn't take it." Fauna shook her head. "My time has come and gone."

Joy rested her head in her hands, and furiously wiped the tears from her face. "I don't know what else to tell you," she said, defeated. "If that's what you think, then you're probably right. Good evening, Fauna."

Fauna's muffled sobs as she stood to leave only barely tugged at Joy's heart.

"Just...think about it?" Joy called after her. "There's still time, you know, as long as you're alive. None of us has anything but time."

Fauna didn't respond. Joy collapsed onto her makeshift bed, feeling somehow infinitely worse than she had before. She cheered herself somewhat by thinking of what the next day might bring. Kinsale had saved Zenovia's life, Zenovia was grateful enough to let her stay in her home...the idea of the two of them inhabiting the same space without killing each other brought a smile to Joy's lips, and with the anticipation of this bizarre image, she drifted into a restless, but much needed slumber.

* * *

The Mountainlands embodied everything Briar Rose associated with Mistress Zenovia. Everything was enormous and harsh and cold and terrifying and intimidating, and so beautiful that Rose's heart ached to look upon it. Snow-topped mountains towered over her at every turn, and the grass was covered in a thin sheet of ice, though if Rose remembered correctly it was still the summer. The sky was somehow bluer than any blue sky Rose had ever seen, now devoid of the magical clouds left over from the war, and each breath Rose took was almost painfully cold, at once exhausting and refreshing.

"Huh," Joy uttered, clearly just as awe-struck as Rose, though she must have seen it many times before. "Never, uh...thought I'd see this place again."

Zenovia threw open her door, then stood stone-still for a moment as she took in the sight of Rose and Joy approaching.

"Pour the champagne, I made it!" said Joy, but her attempt at levity was somewhat dampened by the frailty of her voice.

"Joy..." Zenovia breathed.

Joy held open her arms and wiggled her fingers. "Come on," she said, her vain attempt to hold back tears slipping rapidly, "I hear you're a big softie these days."

Zenovia's face, that constant mask of cold indifference, twitched...or spasmed...or something...so briefly Rose would have missed it if she hadn't been utterly captivated by the intensity of Zenovia's face in that moment. Rose wasn't certain what she expected, but to see Zenovia stride slowly over to Joy and wrap her arms tightly around her was absolutely not within the realm of possibilities.

It was bizarre. Zenovia was massive by comparison, and Joy all but disappeared into her. She emitted a few strangled noises that indicated this reaction was just as unexpected for her: "Oh! Well! My! Would you believe...the rumours were true!"

"Rose!" This from Kinsale, who appeared in the doorway looking considerably closer to the world of the living than she had the last time Rose had seen her. Rose's blood ran cold and her throat closed up, but Kinsale rushed over to her without hesitation. The warmth of her embrace caused Rose to feel the full weight of her foolishness ten times over.

"I'm so happy to see you in one piece!" said Kinsale, as though nothing had happened, as though Rose hadn't very nearly betrayed them all.

Rose clutched the fabric of Kinsale's dress tightly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, over and over, unable to stop herself. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"There now," Kinsale pulled away just enough to look at Rose's face, and wipe away the tears Rose had hardly noticed falling. "All in the past."

"Well if it isn't the illustrious author, herself."

The colour drained from Kinsale's face. She turned her head slowly, as though she thought she might be hearing things, and when she set her eyes upon Joy, she staggered noticeably.

"You're...?"

"Couldn't get rid of me that easily, darling," said Joy, and Kinsale rushed to embrace her.

Zenovia turned her attention to Rose, her usual demeanour more or less restored, but she did place her hands on Rose's shoulders, which was an overwhelmingly warm gesture from her in itself. "It's good to see you again, Rose," she said. "You're looking well."

Rose smiled up at her, "So are you," she said. "So are both of you." And Zenovia rewarded her with the tiniest of smiles in return.

Somewhere not nearly far enough away, there was a horrible  _CRASH_ , and a flash of something that looked almost like lightning, if lightning had somehow gone horribly, horribly wrong.

"What was that?" Rose asked, but even as the words left her lips, something came into view over the mountaintops—something that rung painfully familiar to her in an all-too-recent memory: a dragon, pitch-black against the blue afternoon sky.

Zenova patted Rose's shoulders and then withdrew to her usual guarded stance. "Oh. Ah. Maleficent is in the area. After a fashion."

Rose bit the inside of her mouth, allowed a moment for her stomach to settle. "I don't suppose it would be wise to try and speak with her?"

Kinsale contemplated the distant shadow of wings against the morning sky. "Certainly worth a try," she said. There was a tinge of sadness in her words that Rose did not know how to interpret.

"Is she...dangerous like this?" Rose asked.

Kinsale chuckled. "No more so than usual," she said, then took Joy's arm. "We'll wait for you inside. We have a lot of catching up to do, it seems."

"Damn fucking right we do," Joy replied cheerfully. "Give her hell for me, if you would," she added over her shoulder. "Or, you know, get her to come inside and eat something besides the blood of her enemies for once in her damn life."

"Hell's sake, Joy..." muttered Zenovia, with a deep kind of fondness Rose had scarcely glimpsed in her.

"You can tell her I said that!"

And then Zenovia rather pointedly closed the door behind them, and Rose was alone. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, allowed the pain and the relief to wash through her lungs as waves, one after the other. She was overwhelmed by the intensity of their reunion, a product of years of friendship and strife Rose could not even fathom, and overwrought by the prospect of her own pending reunion, the wisdom Joy had offered her, and whatever might possibly come of approaching a dragon.

Off in the distance, the dragon spread its full wingspan, and Rose knew now without a doubt that it was Maleficent. She could see that the dragon was black with purple beneath its wings. She could see as the dragon drew closer that its eyes glowed in that strange, disquieting way the whites of Maleficent's eyes sometimes appeared yellow like those of an animal.

But more than these visual confirmations, Rose knew that it was Maleficent because she  _felt_  it, felt it like something returned to her that she had not known she'd lost. It had been so long since Rose had felt Maleficent's presence that she'd never realized the way it felt to her before. It felt like this: like setting eyes upon something that seemed like it ought to be a myth, like waking from a dream to find that the real world was far more fantastical than anything she could have ever imagined.

Rose had begun to make her way into the fields of grass and strange flowers she had never even seen in pictured, but the dragon seemed to traverse the entirety of a mountain range with a single beat of her wings. She landed not far from where Briar Rose stood, trembling, terrified, exhilarated, and Rose could not bring herself to do anything but to gaze in awestruck wonderment.

She'd learned not to be utterly dumbfounded by the young dragonet in the Dragon Country, of course, but even when she had returned to find him, in what had seemed at the time a vain hope of saving Maleficent, his head had only reached her chest. This dragon—this dragon Rose knew in her very soul was Maleficent—towered over her. This dragon was like the mountains surrounding them: enormous and harsh and cold and terrifying and intimidating, and...

So beautiful that Rose's heart ached to look upon it.

Almost without realizing it, Rose took a few stumbling steps forward. She was shaking from head to toe, shaking almost violently, as though from the cold, as though she might lose consciousness, but her feet carried her steadfastly forward until she stood almost at the dragon's feet. She thought about Phillip's wild tale of fighting this magnificent creature, the way he'd so obviously overblown his role in her defeat. She thought of her three beloved aunties helping him to fight this resplendent beast, three tiny women who could never quite figure out how to grow a vegetable.

She thought of herself, infinitesimal now when faced with this dragon before her, and how much smaller and weaker she had been before her grand, mad adventure. She saw for a moment this dragon as her enemy, for that was what Maleficent had been at the time, and her heart was stricken by a kind of cold terror that she had never fully been able to conceptualize before. This creature had wanted her dead, and it was only by a fluke, by the comparatively minimal power of a handful of people who had cared for her in whatever capacity they could that she had survived this...Maleficent's wrath.

The dragon lowered her head, and it was a monumental occurrence. The atmosphere moved around her as she shifted. The current of the wind changed to accommodate her.

They were eye to eye now. The dragon's head was larger than Rose's entire body at least twice over. Her eyes were enormous and the same piercing black as Maleficent's, and Rose could see her own terrified reflection in them.

In seeing her own face, twisted in horror, Briar Rose thought of Maleficent. She thought of a person, in many ways incredibly different from herself, but in many more very much the same, going through her entire life seeing a face like Rose's. She imagined every person she ever met seeing her as a monster, first and foremost. Perhaps magnificent, perhaps monstrous; in the end, it did not matter. Neither of them was permitted to simply be, to be the full extent of whatever she was, whatever she might become. Each of them was limited by the perceptions others had of them, and even by the perceptions they had of one another. This was the only reason they had ever been enemies at all.

Rose could see her own features softening in the dragon's eyes. The dragon inhaled, exhaled, quiet like distant thunder, and Aurora shuddered with the resonance of it. She reached out her hand, slowly, as slowly as she could manage, and touched the dragon's head. The dragon's enormous eyes closed, and Aurora's eyes fell closed in tandem. The dragon was warm, almost comfortingly so in the chill of the Mountainlands, and her skin was the same strange, scaly texture of the dragonet's, but beyond these simple, tactile observations, this felt somehow right, as though Rose had been meant to reach out to the dragon. As though this small touch, this superficial connection, mattered somehow.

Suddenly the dragon withdrew, followed by a great gust of wind, and the warmth was gone and the connection was gone, and Rose felt the wind knocked from her own lungs as though she had been hit. Her eyes flew open, and the dragon drew herself up to her full height, and enfolded herself in her wings, expansive as the mountains that surrounded them, and the most curious thing happened next: though the dragon's physical size grew smaller, she remained somehow infinite in presence.

The sweeping sleeves of Maleficent's robes fell from her face, and she threw her face and her arms upward to the sky and inhaled deeply. Somehow she was just as enormous and harsh and cold and terrifying and intimidating as the dragon she had been a moment earlier. She was Maleficent as Rose had never truly seen her before. She was Maleficent in all her glory. Her black hair was thick and healthy and long again, blowing elegantly away from her face in the uneasy wind that remained from her transformation—wind that was slowly settling into stormy weather where there had once been only alarmingly blue skies. Her skin was pale green once more and bore not a scratch, and she glowed with a kind of vitality Rose had never in all their time together witnessed in her. Her robes were just as they'd looked in pictures, black and purple and sweeping like dragon's wings—as though her wings had become her robes. Her black eyes shone clearly in the grey glare from the clouds she had summoned to her side, and when at last her gaze descended from the skies, she regarded Rose with something like haughtiness.

She looked perfect. Perfect and terrifying and unreachable and so, so beautiful...untouchable as she had ever been. Rose nearly fell to her knees in sheer awe before this magnificent and terrible creature, but she steadied herself enough merely to bow her head in a show of sincerest reverence.

"What are you thinking?" Maleficent asked her, quiet like distant thunder, yet crystal clear. Her voice, deep and rich and full, resonated, as it always had, in Briar Rose's very bones, and Rose found she had sorely missed this, too.

Rose felt weak in the knees. She realized faintly that she was trembling, and all at once she had the desire to rush forward and to fall to the ground, and she hadn't any way of knowing which desire might overtake her. "I'd always imagined I'd be overwhelmed at the sight of you in all your glory," said Rose, but just as she had no control over her body, her words fell from her lips, and she was powerless to stop them. "I feel as though I've only known a fraction of you thus far. As though I'm just now beginning to truly see you."

Maleficent inclined her head slightly, quirked one eyebrow studiously. Minuscule gestures, yet still it seemed that the very fabric of the universe shifted when she moved. "I could say the same of you. I didn't expect to see you again."

Rose almost laughed. "Truly? Even if I hadn't told you, isn't it written all over my face that I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, if only you allowed it?"

"War, death, desperation..." Maleficent strode forward, agonizingly slow and painfully elegant, only a few steps, and Rose felt like she might be torn asunder. Maleficent towered over her, perfect, terrifying, unreachable, beautiful, every inch the inhuman fairy of legend. "Circumstance makes fools of us all."

Rose's breath hitched, and she was suddenly acutely aware of another sensation coursing through her body, like ice or fire, but different, more alive—hollow and aching.  _Wanting_. "Am I a fool?" she wondered, feeling at once bold and invincible, and terribly, terribly fragile.

Maleficent's brow furrowed subtly. "Perhaps I merely hoped I'd never see you again," she said.

Rose's heart sank, and she almost staggered backward. "You might have told me before," she almost whimpered.

"That isn't what I meant," said Maleficent, cool visage unbroken but for the faintest glimmer of fear in her black eyes. "I meant that I hoped you'd thought better of caring for me."

The wild beating of Rose's heart and the rapid vacillations between hope and despair rendered her reactionary at best. "Well, we can't all cast off our emotions and fly away into the night so easily as you!"

Maleficent's eyes flashed dangerously. "What is it you expect from me? What did you hope to gain in coming here?"

"I wanted to see you!" Rose cried. "I missed you! I wanted..." but now all that Joy had said to her, about moments and connections and possibilities, seemed almost absurd.

"Maybe I have been foolish. I've been missing...longing for a person I barely knew. A person who was...who was a shell of herself, of you. I can see that clearly now." Rose gestured ineffectually and averted her gaze. "Maybe it was foolish to think that you, full and complete and healthy you, would still want me... If you ever did at all. Even when I didn't understand you at all, even when I was afraid of you or hated you, I felt this...incredible connection with you. Like I'd never really lived before I met you. Like no one had ever really seen me before."

Rose didn't dare to look at Maleficent's face again. She crossed her arms and focused on the gathering stormclouds in what had once been a painfully blue sky. "And sometimes I thought maybe you felt a little bit of that, too. And in those moments I loved you. But everything was so complicated, and things just kept happening and piling up, and I never even had the time or the energy to think about it until recently. And I thought...I thought..." Rose felt cold panic in her veins, but she knew she must bring herself to look up, to look Maleficent in the eyes. If she was going to speak her heart, if she was going to spill her soul, Maleficent must know that it was true.

She looked up to find a very different face than she'd left. Maleficent's eyes were wide, her brows knitted, as though she'd seen something tragic, something terrifying.

"I thought what I felt, what I thought you might feel, too, was worth a chance. I've nothing left to lose but hope...this dreadful feeling in my heart that...somehow, someday...we could be...happy."

Rose wiped the tears from her face—she'd hardly even noticed them until they dripped from her chin. "If this is goodbye, I won't trouble you anymore," she said, slowly and deliberately, struggling not to allow her words to catch in her throat. "But I've said it once and I'll say it a thousand times. I love you. I love you with my whole heart..." Rose reached out, fingertips not a sliver away from Maleficent's cheek, but she stayed her hand there, hanging in midair, so close, yet, as ever, impossibly far. "...and I think a part of me will love you until the day I die."

She backed away quickly, almost staggered, and fully intended to run as far as her legs would carry her, but Maleficent caught her wrist, and once more they stood but a breath apart. Maleficent's eyes, still wide and searching, studied Rose's face almost frantically, and the fingertips of her free hand brushed across Rose's temple, then her cheekbone, then, with a feather-light touch, cradled her jaw, those long fingers curling into what remained of her hair.

Rose was stunned. Her mind, usually a never-ending spiral of nonsensical overthinking, was stone silent, and the only vague notion she held was that this must be a dream, and at any moment she would wake up in her extravagant guest room in Sara's former fortress, or in her cot in Zenovia's fortress, or in her gilded prison in the Eastern Kingdom, or in her little attic room in the cottage in the woods, weeping bitterly for what could never, ever be.

( _We walk together and talk together, and just before we say goodbye, he takes me in his arms...and then..._ )

"Please," Maleficent breathed, her voice impossibly heavy, with depths of sorrow Briar Rose could scarcely fathom. "Don't let this be goodbye."

Rose leaned in with agonizing slowness and kissed Maleficent on the lips. It was only an instant, barely more than a lingering peck, but inside she felt as though something had shattered. Vaguely she realized that it had begun to rain, but all that mattered to her was the look on Maleficent's face—stricken, surprised...but also with a kind of desperate hopefulness Rose could identify all too well, for she was certain it had shone upon her own features every day she'd spent at Maleficent's side.

Maleficent's fingers uncurled from Rose's wrist and she cradled Rose's face in her hands, still so feather-light it barely felt like a proper touch, and Maleficent kissed her back, fully and deeply, hard but also velvety soft, with a kind of passion that rumbled and crackled like the storm in the sky around them, and it was only with this thought that Rose realized the storm was emanating from Maleficent.

Rose's entire body tingled and ached deliciously. When she felt her knees might buckle, she threw her arms about Maleficent's neck, and Maleficent wrapped her arms about Rose's waist, and Rose's toes weren't quite touching the ground any longer. She felt like she was soaring, in body and in heart and in spirit.

And when at last they broke apart, gasping for air, panting and rain-soaked and weeping and grinning—and Rose had never seen Maleficent smile this way; so wide it wrinkled her nose and dimpled her cheeks!—they locked eyes, and somehow everything seemed a great deal simpler than it ever had before.


	34. The Invitation

The rain did not dissipate, but it lightened ever so slightly while they spoke, in little half-breaths of things that hardly mattered. Maleficent's hands seldom strayed from Rose's face, and Rose's fingers curled into the sturdy fabric of Maleficent's robes.

Rose told Maleficent of her confrontation with Mistress Sara, or more precisely what she could remember of it, and Maleficent seemed very nearly to come undone at the knowledge of it. In her dark eyes both anguish and murderous rage reigned simultaneously, the kind of contrast that had always terrified and entranced Briar Rose, but for the first time, Rose felt she was almost prepared to face such a tumultuous range of emotion with a clear head and an open heart.

She thought of what her mother, the Queen, had asked of her, whether she could accept the troubled bond between them as all there could ever be, and in this moment, at least, with Maleficent's hands on either side of her face and Maleficent's eyes flashing with a protectiveness so fierce it could be frightening, she found that she could.

Maleficent told Rose of how she had come back to life, come back to her senses with her shapeshifting ability returned to her. She spoke of feeling trapped in the confines of her own skin and bones, and then of the way it felt to be a dragon again: "Simpler. Warmer. Angrier..." she had averted her eyes, then. "Easier," she amended. "Had you not come, I expect I would have lost myself in that form for some time."

Rose told her what she had been told, about how the Fairy Queen had freed Zenovia, and Zenovia had stricken Sara down, but Sara had already been half-mad, barely even responsive. She told her what little she could piece together of how Kinsale had taken what might well have been a killing blow for Zenovia in the heat of battle, and Zenovia had become uncommonly protective of her because of it.

"It may interest you to know that their sudden connection is not entirely unprecedented," said Maleficent by way of response.

"Really?" Rose wondered. "I'd thought they could hardly stand one another."

"There are people one can hardly stand, and then there are people one can hardly understand," said Maleficent, and it seemed an almost pointed comment. They parted just a little at last, and together they lay back in the wet grass and contemplated the dissipating stormclouds above them, hands still intertwined. "It is easy to see them as rivals, verging on enemies, but there was never any real lack of mutual respect between them, more a belief each held that the other would not respect her disparate methods. Joy, who has known them both far longer than I, always said she expected one day something would give between them, and everything would be altered forever."

"Did she really say that?"

Maleficent hesitated a moment. "More often, she said 'they're one long night from fighting or fucking,' if you must know."

Rose covered her face with her free hand as she laughed. She could see Maleficent watching her, not quite smiling, but with that peculiar glimmer in her eyes that indicated her thoughts were racing.

"So, Briar Rose," Maleficent began after awhile, "you are a free woman now, a sorceress in your own right. What shall you do?"

"Well," said Rose, "I suppose there are a few options. I could return to the Eastern Kingdom and make a claim to the throne. All the talk about it..." she thought of the times her mother or Aunt Fauna had gotten caught up trying to explain it to her and shook her head "...bored me a bit, honestly, but I gather the attempt to unite the North and East with Phillip as successor to the throne isn't as popular an idea as they'd hoped."

Maleficent made a low noise of something like disapproval. "I am no expert on human politics, but I'd wager the situation is likely to become even less exciting to you with time."

Rose laughed. "Yes, I...sort of figured," she said. She hesitated then, before she continued, "I spoke with the Fairy Queen."

"I expect she was interested in your magic," said Maleficent, as though it were obvious.

"How would you know that?"

"Bear in mind that this isn't firsthand information," said Maleficent, "but I'm given to understand that during Joy's tenure as her counselor, she became near-obsessed with the natural enmity of light and dark magic. Commissioned experiments, summits, negotiations, and so forth. Always ill-matched. One or more of the fairies involved always tried to double-cross the others, ruin the results, destroy something valuable, have someone Chained, all business as usual.

"Joy and Terra provided some of the most useful collaborations all those countless projects ever mustered, but since Terra was sentenced to death, and since Joy entrusted the archiving of that work to Zenovia, and Zenovia was Chained for her publication, even that knowledge was mostly lost to time. I imagine the Queen learned of the magic within you, both righteous and wicked, and hopes you will provide her with some sort of answer." Maleficent waved a hand vaguely and amended, "Though, to what question, I cannot say."

Rose considered this for a long moment. She wished she could know the full extent of it all, of Joy's work and her relationship with Terra, and the trial of Cordelia and Acacia, and what really, truly happened, and why so many people had to die. As it stood, she knew she would only ever be able to piece together fragments from what remained. Perhaps that was part of the reason the idea of a stay in the Sky Dominion held such appeal to her. If there were ever a place where knowledge that existed outside the timeframe of her transient human life could be imparted to her, a dominion of fairies divorced from the human world seemed like the place.

"It's a tempting offer," she said at last. " A lot of...unknowns. New places, new ideas. There's so much I'd like to learn."

"No small amount of new dangers, as well," said Maleficent.

Rose turned to face her. "Would you come with me?" she wondered.

"To the Sky Dominion?"

"Yes."

Maleficent chuckled quietly and turned her head to look up at the grey sky. "One wonders whether you actively court dangerous situations, Briar Rose."

Rose felt a little sting of hurt, a little flash of something hollow and cold at the memory of Sara posing her the same question, and she turned to look up at the sky, too, but she didn't lash out and she tried not to jump to disastrous conclusions. "You don't have to answer now," she said. "I don't even know if I should go. It's only a thought."

"You should go wherever you please," said Maleficent, almost severely. "And if you want me at your side, I shall go, too. I only warn you to prepare yourself for the consequences of the company you keep."

Rose propped herself up on her elbow so that she could look down at Maleficent. Maleficent turned her eyes to Rose, yet remained somehow distant, closed off. It wasn't the time to push, Rose could see, and for once she had the wherewithal to quiet the destructive impulse that suggested such things—she had already gained a great deal more than she could ever have hoped for out of this encounter. Instead she moved closer so that she might wrap her arms about Maleficent's waist and rest her head upon Maleficent's shoulder.

Maleficent obliged her, somewhat stiffly at first, but soon enough they settled into a comfortable position, and a peaceful silence but for the light magical rain that still fell around them.

* * *

Sometimes Leah wondered when all the colour had drained out of her world.

There was a grand ball, a celebration of...what, exactly? The end of the war, the union of two kingdoms, the coronation of... Of course, not for many, many years to come, they all repeated time and time again, but at times like this Leah did not feel long for this world.

She watched the dancers spin across the floor and remembered herself what felt like a lifetime ago. Twenty four, twenty-five years since she'd left home? She'd always loved to dance back in those days. When she'd been married to Stefan, she'd stopped dancing. He'd told her he never liked dancing, and she'd agreed because she wanted to be agreeable, and in all the years that followed, she'd never had the heart or the backbone, or perhaps even quite enough desire to correct her falsehood.

It was easier to stand on the sidelines. Better for her image. One could be all sorts of things when one danced—wild, uncontrollable, clumsy, unpracticed, too well-practiced, and so on. When one stood on the sidelines, one looked reserved, poised, regal, aloof, the way a queen ought to be.

So it went in other matters, as well. So had Leah failed to meet Maleficent's most basic stipulation: that she be invited to Aurora's christening and allowed to bestow a magical gift upon the child she had fostered; that she be treated as any other honoured guest, and not as an unwelcome menace.

How simple a thing it should have been, Leah thought now. What gift would Maleficent have given? Was it always a kiss of death or destruction? She'd been convinced it must be at the time, but now she wasn't so certain. Maleficent was not pure evil, any more than Leah was purely well-meaning. Chaotic, perhaps, and certainly unpredictable by mortal standards...

But when Leah had turned to her in desperation, she had offered her assistance. She could have asked for nearly anything and Leah would have obliged, yet her price was so...small, when compared with what she offered. So understandable, even, for had Leah not run away from home in hopes of reinventing her image? What must it be like not to have that luxury? To always be seen the same way, no matter how one grew or changed?

Philip had not taken very long to move on, though technically he was still married, and every eligible maiden in the surrounding area was glad of his attention. At the moment, he twirled across the dance floor with a dark-haired young lady whose dress mixed pink and blue, a decidedly nonmagical trend that had arisen as a reminder of the dress the Good Fairies had made for Aurora.

If Leah had her way, the merger of the North and East would have been called off altogether when Aurora would not have him, but that was a touchy subject, both personally and politically, and no one listened to Leah, anyway. As it stood, Philip was their best option for a widely-accepted successor to both Stefan and Hubert...or at least, that was what Stefan and Hubert wished to believe.

He was, that is to say, unless Aurora returned.

Aurora had, in her brief existence and even more transient time spent in the public eye, garnered for herself a glowing reputation. She was both well-liked and well-revered for her power, particularly after the war had reached their little kingdom, and those who had been called to arms had seen her march into battle with them. As it stood, a woman was not permitted to hold sovereignty without a king, but if anyone were to make a case for changing this age-old tradition, it would be Aurora.

But Leah had heard nary a word from her since she'd departed from Sara's fortress many months ago. She'd written once to tell Leah that she was recovering from her confrontation with Mistress Sara, and that she would be staying in the Mountainlands for a time, but she gave no other specifications. If Leah wished to correspond, said the letter, she must send word with this particular bird, which happened to be a very intimidating owl.

Leah had struggled to think of something to write back for upwards of an hour. She'd asked the owl to give her a bit more time, and it had screeched horribly at her. She thought of the way Aurora could communicate so easily with animals, and then she thought of the fairies who had passed through her father's kingdom when she and her siblings had been born, and the gifts that had been bestowed upon them. She found she could not remember her own, and had never seen any influence of a fairy's magic upon her life.

In the end, she scribbled something trite, a simple good wish, and sent the owl on its way.

Aurora deserved some time to live whatever life she had chosen for herself. It pained her to accept it, but Leah knew if she were to be accepted back into her daughter's life, she must be willing to accept what had transpired because of her own decisions.

Some nights, this knowledge fared better in Leah's mind than others. Tonight, as Leah watched the beautiful dresses spin across the dance floor beneath her and wondered when all the colour had drained out of her world, Leah felt very little.

She stood rather suddenly and excused herself to get some air. Stefan made a vague show of concern, but he was sluggish with mead and eager to have some stupid conversation with Hubert, no doubt, and so he did not protest very adeptly at all.

The night was bright with a full moon. The statues and other structures in the courtyard cast strange shadows across the shimmering grass.

Leah bit the inside of her cheek for a moment; then, impulsively, she kicked off her shoes and felt the bare grass beneath her feet, cold and ever so slightly damp. She thought of an old waltz she'd once loved: one she remembered her mother singing to her when she couldn't have been very old, and one she'd sung to baby Aurora in those few precious weeks they'd spent together. Leah tapped her hand against her leg and began to sway. How did it go again? One, two, three, one two, three...

_I know you, I walked with you once upon a..._

Leah took up fistfuls of her skirt and tried to remember the pattern for the feet, the way it spun so evenly across a ballroom floor, the feeling of every eye upon her as she threw back her head and laughed, not because anything was particularly funny, but because she was so happy to be moving, and dancing, and alive.

_And I know, two, three, it's, two, three, true,  
That visions are seldom all they..._

Leah stopped short, still balancing on her bare toes in the grass, startled by the unmistakable call of an owl on the approach. The owl in question settled itself on the courtyard's fountain, looking very much like a part of the statue in the light of the moon, and it offered her the note it carried.

* * *

"Kinsale."

Natural clouds hung low and heavy over the mountains, obscuring their snowy tops, and the clouds carried with them the tense sensation that rain must soon follow. Kinsale sat in the grass and sand by the river that ran just out of view of Zenovia's fortress, contemplating a stone she held between her fingers.

"Maleficent," she managed, quietly, then lobbed the stone into the gently rushing waters.

There was a particular sort of guilt that came with one's last conversation having ended so disastrously, and that feeling was only intensified by the possibility that said disastrous exchange could have been the end of everything. It took Kinsale a full minute to gather the courage to look up into Maleficent's eyes, and she made the journey with wide eyes and a racing heart, as though a hundred years hadn't passed since she'd fallen so tragically in love.

Maleficent had few tells now. She stood tall and silent and stone-faced against what Kinsale imagined must be a veritable tapestry of emotion written upon her own features. Kinsale remembered this same treacherous feeling bubbling up in her chest when Maleficent had showed up with Rose after nearly a century without so much as a word. Old love, old heartache, old dreams of something that could have been.

Yes, Maleficent might be a master of dissemblance now, but when she'd been younger, she'd been all twitches and bright, expressive eyes. When she was feeling awkward or shy she would linger back, put doorways or furniture between them, and her shoulders would hunch ever so slightly. Now, Kinsale could see just the shadow of the old habit, a slightly rounded outline where there were usually only hard angles, and there was something tremendously comforting about the familiarity of it, even if it was perhaps uncharitable to wish discomfort upon someone.

Probably sensing that Kinsale could bring herself to say nothing further, Maleficent added, "May I join you?"

Kinsale nodded, then turned her attention back to the oddly-shaped stones along the bank of the river. She picked one up, examined it, then squeezed it tightly in her fist.

"I'm sorry for what I said before," she said in a rush, before the words could catch in her throat. "You're not a coward. Of course you're not." She inhaled deeply, relished the faint burn of the cold air filling her lungs, then threw the stone into the river with a resounding splash. "You never were," she amended quietly.

Kinsale heard the rustling of Maleficent's robes as she sat, heard the shifting of the rocks and sand, felt the faintest warmth of her presence an arm's length away.

"I wish I could have said something," said Maleficent, so quietly it might as well be the wind. "Anything would have been better than nothing, I think."

Kinsale wished, with a sudden vehemence, that they could just forget the whole thing and never mention it again, that she could forever fester in unknowing. She felt her throat closing up, tears threatening her eyes, as though this whole thing weren't ancient history at all. She swallowed, hard.

"But the truth, Kinsale..." Maleficent's hand, outstretched, hovering over hers, distant warmth, and the tears threatened her once more. Kinsale did not pull her hand away, but she turned her head and bit the inside of her cheek. Embarrassed. She wished she'd never said anything. Why couldn't she have just bottled up her tragic feelings for the rest of eternity?

"The truth is that I didn't understand what I felt then," Maleficent continued, somehow even quieter, and even more crystal clear. Maleficent hadn't had that talent when she'd been younger. The control over her voice had been...new, and devastating, when they'd met again.

Kinsale sought out another stone to crush into the palm of her unoccupied hand, something solid to press against as she felt herself spiraling out of control. "Do you understand it now?"

"I trusted you," said Maleficent, but it wasn't an accusation or a confession of betrayal. It was a plain statement. "Because I believed I understood you so well that I knew what you would and wouldn't do, I trusted you with an impossible task: to remain unchanged. To stay the course we'd set from the beginning, as though nothing around us or within us could possibly have altered it. I had the...audacity...to feel betrayed, because you changed. You...grew."

Kinsale didn't quite look up, but she did look over to where Maleficent's hand remained outstretched, hovering just above her own. She inhaled deeply and turned her hand over in acceptance.

Holding Maleficent's hand felt just the same as it had a hundred years prior. Kinsale inhaled again, exhaled, and threw her stone into the river.

"You weren't wrong to call me a coward, Kinsale," Maleficent continued, and at the mention of her name, Kinsale finally managed to look up, from the safety of a curtain of her hair. "A hundred years have passed and I almost made the same mistake because in many ways I haven't grown or changed at all."

Maleficent's face was impassive but for the burning uncertainty in her dark eyes as she contemplated the river before them. Her brow furrowed, subtly, just for a moment, but then her features smoothed and she might as well have been a sculpture of herself. Kinsale sometimes rather missed the twitchy, paranoid version of Maleficent—not because she wished overwhelming paranoia upon her friend, but because her fear had been far easier to understand.

Kinsale squeezed Maleficent's hand. "That isn't true, either." This was fear, that much Kinsale could discern, but the causes were many and murky at best. "Perhaps..." Kinsale rested her chin upon her free hand and contemplated the moving water for a moment. "I don't think you're a coward. I think you don't respond well to being afraid because there are very few things in this world that frighten you. But I'm wondering..." she looked up. "What's frightening you now?"

Again, Maleficent's brow furrowed, then smoothed, so quickly and so subtly that Kinsale wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been looking for it, one of Maleficent's few remaining tells.

"Are you afraid I'm still upset with you?"

Maleficent inclined her head. "Perhaps, a bit. However, I think my latest brush with destruction has rendered you uncommonly forgiving."

Kinsale raised one eyebrow pointedly. "Are you afraid I've forgiven you?"

Maleficent met her eyes briefly, but there was the faintest hint of that old twitchiness about her, and she looked away again. "Perhaps. A bit." She nodded then, a true confirmation.

"Are you afraid of what will happen with Briar Rose?"

Maleficent opened her mouth as though to say something, but no words followed. She closed her mouth and frowned.

"Are you afraid you won't be able to love her? Are you afraid that the moment you finally open yourself up, it will be too late, and she won't want you anymore?"

To Kinsale's immense surprise, and somehow even greater relief, Maleficent narrowly avoided smirking at her. She let out a breathy sort of a chuckle, shook her head, and returned her attention to the river.

Kinsale took Maleficent's hand between both of her own. "I'm going to warn you: your Briar Rose is very forgiving, particularly of you. I don't think there's very much in this world for which she wouldn't forgive you."

Maleficent turned to face her, eyes alight with arguments Kinsale could anticipate, but Kinsale let go of Maleficent's hand and took Maleficent's face between her hands, instead. Maleficent almost flinched in surprise, but she did not pull away.

"You can love her," Kinsale said, slowly, emphatically. "You can do..." she shook her head, almost laughed "...anything. That part is easy."

Again, Maleficent looked like she wanted to protest, but Kinsale stopped her.

"What you must do...and it must be...conscious. Painstaking, perhaps. But what you must do, is to allow yourself to be forgiven."

Maleficent's impassive expression...cracked, just ever so slightly, and suddenly she looked very much the troubled youth Kinsale had first met. "How did you ever manage it?"

Kinsale almost laughed. She wasn't certain of the emotion behind it. Relief, sorrow, the barest beginnings of happiness. "I'm not certain I have. But I'm trying." She nodded slowly, more to herself than to Maleficent. "I think it's the trying that matters."

Maleficent rarely smiled, and the sight of it, Kinsale thought, would never cease to be breathtaking. Maleficent placed her own hands over Kinsale's on the sides of her face, and she smiled, and then she took Kinsale's face in her hands, and she kissed Kinsale's lips, softly, sweetly, a goodbye she'd never said all those years ago.

When their lips had parted, Maleficent's forehead remained pressed against Kinsale's, and with her thumbs she wiped away tears Kinsale hadn't realized she had begun to shed. "There is so little in myself that I can find worthy of...loving," Maleficent sighed. "I'm certain most of it came from you. I am..." she swallowed "truly sorry for the way I left you." She pulled away, but only enough so that she could look into Kinsale's eyes. Maleficent's eyes, too, shone with tears. "I wish you every happiness," she said, so vehemently she sounded almost severe.

"And I, you, Maleficent," said Kinsale, as evenly as she could manage. "I hope you know how much you deserve to be happy."

Maleficent bowed her head. "I will...try," she said solemnly.

Kinsale leaned in and kissed her forehead. "That's all any of us can ever do, darling."

* * *

No one had heard from Fauna in many months.

Sometimes Fauna wondered whether anyone missed her at all. Mostly she was glad of the solitude. She had never truly been alone, not intentionally, and not without several attempts not to be. She'd always been seeking someone, anyone who could help her, and never thought to seek anything within herself.

She followed the trail of her own imagination. She thought of all the places she'd have gone if she'd run away with the boy she'd met on the beach five hundred years ago, and she went there herself. Technically, she had a responsibility to the Eastern Kingdom, but her talk with Joy had reminded her of something she'd long forgotten, or perhaps never fully grasped: humans were transient creatures. Much as the fair folk must protect the humans, they must also not allow the course of their own lives to be ruled by a mortal's fickle fancies.

The Eastern Kingdom was in uproar, because it was to become the North-Eastern Kingdom and Philip was to be its king, unless Rose were to return and claim the title, which would cause another monumental uproar. That would last a few years, perhaps, or a few decades, depending upon this or that variable, and Fauna's responsibility was to use her longevity, which ought to give her a better look at the long-term effects of any given decision, to advise the human ruler.

This was the responsibility that had ruled her life and the lives of her sisters; yet, as she sat upon the branch of a tree somewhere deep in the forest, Fauna could not bring herself to remember why such a matter was so important as to have kept any of them from realizing other dreams, from following other paths.

After a few months of utter solitude, Fauna made the journey to the Sky Dominion. It wasn't so instantaneous a journey as when she'd traveled there at Kinsale's behest, but Fauna found that she did not mind a less hurried approach.

Fauna's family had never been particularly magically gifted. One need merely compare them in size and stature to someone like Mistress Sara, or Mistress Hilda, to see the disparity in power. Yet, Fauna saw how Rose, a human, had strengthened her own magic in such a relatively short length of time, and in her solitude she had begun to wonder whether perhaps she had simply accepted her limited magical ability because everyone had told her it must be so, and whether, perhaps, she might be able to learn a bit more of magic if she put her mind to it.

Thus, she made the journey to the Sky Dominion in large part with the intention of visiting the vast library it boasted. And boast, it should. The library might as well have been its own city. It was an enormous thing, bustling with fairies of all shapes and sizes (though none bore the telltale green skin of a wicked fairy) and one could hardly make out one end of it from the other. Fauna roamed aisle after aisle, utterly overwhelmed, and did little more for the first several hours but to run her fingertips over the spines of books as she passed.

It was beautiful, and exciting, and overwhelming, and frightening.

Fauna had hoped to find a wealth of knowledge here, but she didn't even know where to begin. Perhaps she'd been foolish to come here. Perhaps she couldn't spend half her life trailing about after humans and then expect to fall back into step with fairies who'd spent half their lives putting all they knew into a city of books.

She tarried awhile before a book with a particularly interesting spine, but felt a bit too discouraged to pull it from its shelf and examine it further. What if she opened it and couldn't understand a single word? What if the study of magic had progressed so far from when she'd learned what she knew hundreds of years ago that there would be no way to bridge the gap she had created with her negligence?

What if it had been better simply to accept how little she could do? How foolish would she feel now, when she'd finally thought to grasp at more?

"Can I help you find anything?" a voice asked from behind her.

Fauna whirled about to see a male fairy around her own size, with dark hair that greyed at the temples and large spectacles perched upon his nose. She smiled. "I was..just looking around, actually. I've never been here before."

"Well!" he said, with a little bow. "Allow me to welcome you to my favourite place in this world or any other!" He offered his arm. "May I give you the grand tour?"

"I..." Fauna's hand fell from its place upon the spine of a random book, and she took a few tentative steps forward. "Yes," she said, with a smile and a definitive nod. "Yes, I'd like that."

The fairy, whose name was Leviathan, asked her about her origins, her history, her proclivities. He showed her entire sections filled with animal and nature magic, and, when she confessed her aim in coming here at all, he led her to rows upon rows of volumes devoted to the gradual enhancement of magical strength in fairies with limited natural power.

"Why, it's nothing to be ashamed of, Lady Fauna!" he said, in response to her expression. "But are you not here with the desire to improve your skills? An admirable goal."

Fauna gazed up at the scores of books towering around them. "There's so much," she breathed. "I'm not sure where to begin. I'm not even sure if...after so long..."

When she said no more, he spoke. "For the first three hundred or so years of my life, i could scarcely keep house plants alive. When first I found this place, I remember thinking the same thing." He folded his hands behind his back and contemplated the row of bookshelves with her. "But then I thought, you know...what's stopping me?" He smiled, nudged her shoulder with his. "It's never too late to start anew, and I don't think it matters very much where you begin, so long as you begin."

And in that moment, for what must have been the first time in months, Fauna found cause to smile, too. "All right," she said, with a little nod. "Do you have any recommendations?"

* * *

"Bringing humans into my house," Zenovia muttered as she passed, but her indignation was halfhearted at best.

"If you didn't want them here, you should have taken Maleficent up on her offer to rebuild my old house a month ago," Kinsale replied primly.

Zenovia muttered something unintelligible and disappeared into the next room.

"Anyway," said Kinsale pointedly, "here's the rough draft I've been working on, but I wondered how you wanted to be called."

"Called?" Rose echoed.

"The tradition would be either Her Highness, Princess Briar Rose, or Aurora if you'd prefer, or, if you'd rather take a sorcerer's title, Her Excellency, Mistress Briar Rose," Kinsale explained. "Or Aurora, if you'd prefer," she amended.

And though of course Rose knew it oughtn't to matter very much, the decision felt somehow monumental to her. Perhaps it was the way everyone spoke of Kinsale's infamous parties, the way she'd once invited everyone she knew, good fairy, wicked fairy, and human alike, from far and wide, to these lavish gatherings, the stories from which might live on through gossip or even writing long after Rose's transient human life had come to an end.

Perhaps it was the simple matter of being afforded such a choice to make for herself, even a small one.

Rose thought about the way she'd felt, being called a princess, the way she'd felt about being called Aurora, and the way she'd felt like she wasn't much of anything until rather recently—a fragile human pretending at sorcery, bound to get herself swept away in an ages-old conflict her transient mind could scarcely conceive of. Then she thought of more recent days, the way she had been able to help, at least a little bit, as a sorceress—the way she'd been able to inspire or frighten the people of the Eastern Kingdom, the way she'd been able to help in healing Mistress Joy.

"I feel..." ready, she didn't quite say, but the sentiment rang out anyway, and she was certain Kinsale would understand at least a fraction of it. It was something like being born into a title versus earning it, or being given a magical gift and claiming it, fully inhabiting her space. "I would be honoured to take a sorceress's title," she amended, instead.

Zenovia paced past them again. "What do humans  _do_  for namedays?" she wondered, with an exasperated flourish of her hand. "I don't understand what's expected of me."

"Oh, I'm certain I could mine some humans for all sorts of absurd rituals if you insist," said Kinsale lightly. But in response to Zenovia's grim expression, she amended, "Sometimes people give gifts. Other times they just throw a party. Some humans find it agreeable to have all their friends around them on a special day."

"Hm," was Zenovia's response.

"If you hadn't spent centuries despising me I'd have already thrown you a birthday party by now, Zenovia."

"Insufferable creature."

"How old are you, anyway?"

"You're the historian."

"Shall I round up a few thousands?"

"This is why I don't throw parties," Zenovia snapped.

"Then," said Kinsale, with a pointedness that suggested she was referring to some previous unknown conversation between the two of them, "it escapes me why you feel qualified to question my methods."

She thrust the invitations at both Zenovia and Rose with a triumphant flourish.

 _Her Excellency Mistress Kinsale formerly of the Land Between Two Rivers_  
[ currently c/o the Mountainlands ]  
cordially invites you to celebrate the  
Nineteenth Nameday  
of Her Excellency, Mistress Briar Rose, formerly of the Eastern Kingdom  
on the first day of Spring

"A lot of superfluous nonsense," Zenovia grumbled.

But, overcome by a rush of delight, Briar Rose threw her arms about Kinsale's shoulders and kissed her cheek. "I think it's perfect," she effused.

Kinsale shot Zenovia a cheeky grin. "It seems you're outvoted."

Rose had very much expected Zenovia to glare, or snap back, or even storm off. What happened instead, Rose never could have anticipated. She didn't quite smile, but she...softened, somehow. Like her harsh exterior...broke, or fractured, just for an instant, and she looked between Kinsale and Rose with something that might actually have been mild fondness.

"Don't get used to it," she said, with considerably less vitriol than she might have intended.


	35. The Nameday

"Bit balmy here, isn't it?" Kinsale murmured, dragging an arm across her brow.

"Why do you think I never visited before?" Zenovia retorted as she surveyed the trees above them. They were alight with all manner of colourful birds. A few hundred years ago, Elysia had sent some of them to deliver her letters. It occurred to Zenovia vaguely that perhaps she still did—Zenovia had simply taken to allowing only her trusted owls to deliver her mail past the outermost borders of her land.

The residence they sought seemed little more than an amalgamation of the things that surrounded it—wood and grass and stone all melded together, crawling with more forest wildlife. Before they could so much as get close enough to knock, the door opened a crack, and Zenovia felt all the air rent violently from her lungs.

The face of a little girl peered out, too familiar, too much like Irina. An old memory superimposed itself on this new face, a little girl looking up at her wide-eyed and waiting, trusting even as Zenovia had stood over the bloodied body of their mother.

Too hot, too humid, closing in, and Zenovia couldn't breathe. "Uh. Hello," she managed, staring, still staring at this perfect image of her younger sister, stuck out of time like a ghost.

She felt Kinsale's hand on her arm. Cool, solid, real. "You'll have to excuse her; she's not used to seeing anyone under the age of one thousand."

The little girl smiled. The little girl in Zenovia's memory did not.

"I'm Kinsale, and this is Zenovia."

Wider smile. Zenovia remained paralyzed.

"Nova."

"What a lovely name! It's nice to meet you, Nova. Is your mother in?"

Nova nodded and retreated into the house. Zenovia took a moment to contemplate Kinsale with befuddlement, and no small amount of relief. She'd thought at first it might have been an absurd and sentimental decision to bring her along, and would more than likely cause more problems than it solved, but it seemed she was mistaken already.

Elysia appeared, heavily pregnant, looking very tired, but very happy. Mercifully she looked much less like Irina, but shared the same midnight blue eyes that ran in the family. Zenovia inhaled, exhaled, regained control of her senses.

"Zenovia! Please, come in!" she said. Low, rich voice. Warm. Oddly welcoming. "And Mistress Kinsale, what an absolute delight to meet you! Just finished your Mistress Joy, actually—been meaning to get to it for years, and honestly it's one of the best things I've ever read."

They continued to talk. Zenovia could hardly focus. Elysia led them through the front hall of her home, into a sitting room filled with little knick-knacks: books, toys, signs of life. Nova stayed close at her mother's side, but seemed very taken with Kinsale, and watched her intently as she spoke.

"..fascinating stuff, the Acacia trial..."

"...word is the same will be true of Mistress Sara..."

"...incidentally, I've acquired access to a few firsthand sources..."

"...joining us for dinner?"

"Dinner?" Zenovia echoed stupidly, when she realized both Elysia and Kinsale had returned their attention to her, in wait of a response.

"Won't you join us?" Elysia repeated pleasantly. "It's nothing special, just some local fare I scrounged together, but I'd love it if you'd—"

Her words were halted by a sound, and that sound brought Zenovia's world screeching to a halt as another memory overtook her. Neglected children crying, crying, wheezing, coughing, crying themselves to sleep, she herself still a child struggling to care for them, to care for herself, to care at all, knowing they would survive as she had, not wishing that fate on anyone, the little girl with Irina's face, Irina crying when their mother called for them...

A hand on her arm. Cool, solid, real. "Zenovia."

Kinsale's eyes. Warm brown, concerned.

"What?" Zenovia snapped, pulled her arm away, felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed.

"Elysia went to get her baby," said Kinsale, low, even, almost...soothing. "She just woke up from a nap and she was crying for attention. Everything is all right."

Zenovia turned away from her, focused on some meaningless decoration on the wall. "I can clearly see that everything is all right, Kinsale," she said coldly. It was too warm in here, warm, small, walls closing in, baby crying in the other room, soft cooing noises, low soothing voice, comfort, no comfort, no comfort anywhere—

"There we go! Say hello!"

Elysia reappeared, holding a toddler, a baby with dark blue eyes too big for her head and curls twisted into pigtails. She withdrew a hand from her mouth to wave sleepily at Zenovia. Zenovia, dumbfounded, waved back.

"Oh, what a beautiful little girl!" Kinsale cooed from somewhere beyond her periphery. "What's your name?"

"Can you tell Kinsale your name, darling?" said Elysia.

The little girl gazed up at them, wide-eyed, then buried her face in Elysia's shoulder.

"She's a little shy," said Elysia with a smile. "It's Astrid. Anyway, as I was saying, it's just a soup I threw together, nothing special." She gestured with her free hand. "Come now."

Elysia led them into her kitchen, which had a dining table in the middle of it, and beckoned for her soup cauldron and a few bowls, which made their way swiftly across the room as they gathered around. "Nova, would you do the honours?" she said.

Nova nodded solemnly, and her brow furrowed in concentration as she held her hands out and enchanted the serving spoon to fill the soup bowls.

"Oh!" Kinsale exclaimed with delight. "How lovely!"

"Very good, darling," said Elysia with a curt nod.

Astrid became chatty as they settled in to eat. "Soup!" she exclaimed a few times, at random intervals, and "No-uh!" pointing to her sister, and then "No-uh!" pointing to Zenovia.

"Clever girl," Elysia remarked, with a small smile. "You're quite right, darling—Nova is named after your Aunt Zenovia!"

"Oh!" Kinsale cried again, delighted, and tapped Zenovia's arm.

"Hm," was all Zenovia managed.

"It came out a bit salty, I'm afraid—" Elysia remarked, of the soup.

"Tsk, you're being too modest—this is wonderful!" Kinsale effused. She had that affected charm about her now, too bright, too warm, almost biting, that Zenovia had spent centuries despising. Now she imagined it was an overcompensation for her own rapidly souring mood. "You must be an excellent cook, cobbling together whatever you find. I'm horribly unimaginative, myself."

Elysia did not seem to mind it. "Well, if Zenovia ever answered her mail, I might have sent a few recipes along—"

"I never asked you to write to me," Zenovia snapped, and suddenly it was as though all the warmth, all the light had drained from the room.

There was a moment's tense silence before Elysia replied, evenly, "I know, Zenovia. I was only teasing. I did it for myself. My own reasons."

"Why?" Zenovia demanded, with a slam of her hand upon the dining table.

When she rose to her feet, she towered over everyone in the room, a clear threat. The children cowered. The baby didn't even dare to cry out.

Zenovia turned her attention to Kinsale, gestured to her vehemently. "Why do you feel compelled to do these things for me? Go out of your way for me when I wouldn't do the same, wouldn't even think to do the same?"

Kinsale's face remained impassive but for the subtle knitting of her brow. "Because," she said, gentle as rain, "that's just it, Zenovia. I don't think that you wouldn't, only that you wouldn't think to. We can only give the kindnesses we know, ourselves."

Zenovia's eyes darted between them, between Kinsale's dark brown, her extended family's dark blue, between the little girl who couldn't have been older than Zenovia was when she made her first kill, the strange woman cradling a terrified infant who had felt compelled to write to Zenovia unanswered for centuries, the truly bizarre woman who had very nearly given her life to save Zenovia, who now endeavoured to offer up her heart, as well.

On this fateful day, Zenovia did something she'd sworn every day of her life she never would: she turned and ran out of the room.

* * *

There was a certain relief in being chained to a wall. No one left to fight, no one left to impress, no one left to command, to defend, no one left for whom even to spare a passing thought. Sara had heard it was very common for wicked fairy children to be chained to their bedroom walls as punishment. She wondered if they ever realized what a boon it was, not to have to move anymore.

So much misery in the world. Such pestilence. Only so long anyone could stand it before she became numb to the weight of it. Sara had cared too much once. Sara had believed in life and goodness and forgiveness. She'd looked upon those miserable creatures called the dark fae with pity in her heart, looked upon those fragile fleshy things called humans with the urge to protect.

Where had it gotten her? Mistrusted, reviled, betrayed, and now?

Poor fools, always tearing themselves apart. Someday they'd all see in turn that she would have done them a kindness. There was only so much a heart could take before it hardened, before it turned on all it loved most dearly.

It took her some time to remember why she was here, what she had done that someone had deemed unacceptable, but she could not bring herself to feel remorse. The memory was distant, dark, painted in greys in her mind's eye, and it left her feeling only hollow. No rage, no vindication, no remorse, nothing. She had never considered herself a very emotional fairy. She wondered when she'd last felt anything but a vague, cold sort of determination.

The Queen came to see her sometimes, with this kind of distant pity shining in her eyes. Sara almost laughed at the sight of it. She and the Queen were much the same, she was certain—how could a being at least twice her age still have the capacity to feel for the vermin of the earth so far beneath her?

She imagined it troubled her, not to feel more.

"Your people have petitioned for a hold on your trial," Titania told her one day. Or night, perhaps. Such things mattered little now.

"What is it they hope to uncover?" Sara wondered.

"I hoped you would know," said Titania.

"I expect most have already made up their minds about me," said Sara. "One way or another."

"Time...eases some tensions," said Titania slowly. "It seems to me your supporters are hoping to wait until the outrage has quelled."

"Outrage," Sara echoed vaguely.

"You tortured a human girl," the queen reminded her, with a severity that sounded affected.

"Do you truly care so deeply?" Sara wondered, even bothered to put in the effort to lift her head.

"How can you say such a thing?" the queen implored her, all burning amber eyes and delicately furrowed brow.

Sara felt a faint smile playing at her lips. It had been so long since she'd found cause to smile. "You don't," she said simply.

"You used to care so deeply for so many things, Sara," said Titania, shaking her head gravely. "What happened? Do you know? Do you even remember?"

Sara inclined her head contemplatively. "Such misery in the world beneath us. Such misery in the world around you. There is only so much a heart can care for, Majesty."

Suddenly the queen was too close, burning bright eyes too much in the near-darkness, kneeling before her, just behind the bars of her prison. "Only if you try to force it, Sara," said the queen, too gently, too softly, like pity, like cruel mockery, and Sara felt her fists clench, felt her muscles strain against the chains that held her.

She saw the human girl in her mind—fire in her eyes, too, fire on her hands and feet, too—and tried to feel something, tried to feel the burning on her own skin. She shook her head, collapsed into her restraints.

"I don't want to have to kill you, Sara," said Titania, voice growing heavy. Pleading. "I don't want to have to make that call."

Sara laughed coldly, was stunned to feel wetness upon her cheeks and a stinging in her eyes. She felt neither mirth nor sorrow, only a hollow echo of something like surprise. "There are worse fates than death, Titania," she said.

* * *

It was better on the roof. Cooler, less crowded. Zenovia could see treetops and distant mountains half-obscured by gathering clouds, and birds flying overhead, and she could curl her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms about them without worrying about being seen in such an objectively pathetic position. She wasn't surprised when Kinsale joined her, only that she didn't immediately start talking.

Zenovia knew she probably ought to be doing the talking, namely an apology of some sort, but she hadn't the faintest idea where to begin. Or, achieving that, where to end.

After awhile, Kinsale spoke quietly. "What was it like?"

"Hm."

"The battle," Kinsale clarified, cautiously. "With your mother."

Zenovia sighed. "Are you mining me for writing material already?"

Kinsale chuckled lightly. Her laughter was like music, a song of chimes carried on the wind. "Maybe a little. Mostly I was only curious."

"It was terrible. What else do you expect?"

"i don't know," said Kinsale, "I just...I had no deep love for my mother, but I don't think I could have done it.

Zenovia scoffed. "Of course you could have, if you wanted to survive."

Kinsale was quiet for awhile after that, but Zenovia wasn't fool enough to think that would be the end of the conversation. The chatter of exotic birds filled the silence between them. Zenovia rather preferred the silence of her fortresses.

"I heard stories," said Kinsale when she spoke again. "Rumours, really, third or fourth or fifth-hand information, about your mother, what it was like for you and your sisters."

"You and everyone else," said Zenovia, but it didn't have much of the bite she'd intended. Mostly she felt...tired.

"It seems like Elysia and her children are happy," said Kinsale cautiously. "Healthy."

"Hm."

"But...and of course, I'm not claiming to know much about anything, only...it seems to me that...children, family...those..." Kinsale waved her hand vaguely, "...kinds of things... are hard to do alone. And that's what we're all conditioned to do—to isolate ourselves. Maybe Elysia kept writing to you because she admired your strength, your resilience." Kinsale paused, hesitated. "Perhaps it made her feel less alone, to write to someone, to know someone she admired so much might know what she was going through, even if she never responded."

Zenovia bit the inside of her cheek, hard. She didn't respond.

"Why did we come here?" Kinsale pressed, still almost too gently.

Zenovia shrugged, and when she spoke her voice came out strained and hoarse. "I don't know," she said. "To see. To know. To..." she gestured vaguely "...reach out."

"Oh?" Kinsale wondered lightly. "Not just to yell about your mail?"

 _We can only give the kindnesses we know, ourselves_ , Kinsale had said earlier, inside when Zenovia had...

"I'm quite a house-guest," she murmured derisively.

Kinsale laughed, leaned her head against Zenovia's shoulder. "I expect you'll be forgiven. The dark fae have shown far greater tempers than that."

Zenovia frowned, clenched a fist into the fabric of her trousers, half-consciously turned her cheek to feel the softness of Kinsale's hair against it. "May those children know no worse temper than mine in all their days," she said gravely. The bird chatter reigned for a few moments before Zenovia asked, quietly, "What was your mother like?"

"Hm," said Kinsale, like a sigh. "It's not a question I've had to answer in some time. I always used to say she was only the expected level of dreadful, but...you know, she could be quite nice. Cruel, certainly. Crazy. Unhinged. And I loathed her for it then," she said the word— _loathed_ —so softly, light as the cool mountain air Zenovia was so missing just now.

"But you know..." Kinsale continued, and the waver in her voice gave away that she was not quite so detached from the memory as she wished to be, "...there were five of us altogether, and she raised us all alone, more or less. Looking back, I can't imagine how she could have done it any better. My brothers aren't all bad, after all, and even I can be tolerable from time to time."

A small breath of laughter escaped Zenovia's lungs. "Only on occasion."

Kinsale laughed and kissed her cheek, and Zenovia felt somehow lighter, as though the smallest fragment of a thousand-year-old burden had at long last been lifted from her heart.

* * *

"Do you think it's silly?"

"I think it's lovely."

"Then why are you smiling like that?"

"I'm not permitted to smile?"

Briar Rose had been overcome by a whimsical notion to enchant her ballgown (one of Mistress Kinsale's devising) to fade from pink to blue and back again whenever she moved. Kinsale had found the notion delightful, and had pointed her to a few spellbooks that might lead her down the right path. After going through all that effort, and pulling the charm off flawlessly, she'd become suddenly quite embarrassed that she'd put so much time into it at all, and Maleficent's smug expression did not aid her in this circumstance.

"You look like you're about to make a joke at my expense."

"I expect that is because I rarely smile under circumstances not related to the misery of others," Maleficent replied coolly. She approached, and offered her hands to Rose. "But you may rest assured that my pleasure is genuine. You look...radiant."

Rose took Maleficent's hands, averted her eyes when she felt her cheeks flush hot. "There will be a lot of people."

"If that was a concern of yours, you oughtn't to have entrusted the event to Mistress Kinsale in the first place."

Rose laughed. "No, I know, it's just...it will be strange. Seeing them all again. A lot has changed. I feel...different. New."

Maleficent considered this a moment before she responded. "And so shall you be," she said, slowly, "whether others see it or not."

Rose took this in, let it sink into her skin, and she nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right," she said quietly.

"Of course I am," Maleficent replied, with the subtlest of smirks playing at her lips.

Kinsale was a vision of shimmering silver and gold, so bright she seemed almost to light up the room wherever she walked. She wore her hair mostly down tonight, wild curls spilling down to the small of her back, tied away from her face with tiny sparkling pins that looked like doves on the wing.

Zenovia had chosen, despite Kinsale's fervent protestation, a simple black suit and black shirt beneath it. Where Kinsale brought light, Zenovia seemed to bring darkness. The result was nonetheless striking in its own way, and only after Kinsale had conceded this did Zenovia, rather smugly, pluck one of Kinsale's fluttering dove pins from her hair and pin it to the lapel of her tailcoat.

"Oh, it's wonderful!" Kinsale effused when Rose twirled in her gown to demonstrate the way the colours changed. She plucked another fluttering pin from her hair and clipped it into Rose's. "How are you feeling, darling? Nervous? Excited?"

Rose ran her hand over the back of her head, still unaccustomed to the shortness of her hair. "A little of both," she said. "Ready."

Rose wanted to stand at the door with Kinsale and Maleficent, but Kinsale insisted she 'make an entrance' after everyone had arrived. She felt more than a little silly at the prospect, and was reminded rather uncomfortably of her last unintentional grand entrance, still half-asleep and sure she was dreaming, hanging onto the arm of Prince Phillip and searching for something she knew in a sea of strangers. She wondered if it would be much the same tonight: another new beginning.

"Well, of course you're ready," said Kinsale. "But trust me, darling, the wait will be worth it in the end."

She gestured that Maleficent should follow her, and then Rose was left alone with Zenovia, who looked at once like she wished to say something, and like she wished to leave and never return.

"You look...quite dashing," said Rose shyly.

Zenovia raised her eyebrows. Surprise showed subtly across her sharp features. "Dashing?" she echoed.

"Striking? Handsome?" Rose embarrassed herself. She averted her gaze, rubbed the back of her neck again. "You...look very nice," she finished lamely.

She'd expected a scowl, or perhaps a curt grunt of acknowledgement, but instead, the corners of Zenovia's lips quirked suddenly upward into the tiniest of smiles, and a small huff of laughter escaped them.

Thank you," she said, and Rose felt herself returning the smile at least twice over.

A moment's silence passed. Downstairs, they could hear the chatter of arriving visitors. "I don't like parties," said Zenovia.

Rose was stricken by a memory. "I read your book... _Essential Camouflage_ ," she said. "I remember thinking that. That you must not like parties."

Another breath of amusement. "Maleficent always liked those spells."

"She doesn't like parties, either," Rose guessed.

"On the contrary," said Zenovia. "Maleficent has quite the taste for drama, when the mood strikes her. She just likes to complain."

Rose caught sight of herself in a mirror Kinsale had fashioned for her—Zenovia didn't have any mirrors, and flatly refused to have anything to do with making one. "I'm not sure if I like parties or not," Rose confessed. "I haven't been to very many."

She could see Zenovia behind her in the mirror, looking at her, and not either of their reflections. "I expect Kinsale will see to it that you enjoy this one," said Zenovia. "It's all very performative, I think, and Kinsale and Maleficent enjoy that, to varying degrees."

"Performative," Rose echoed. Yes, that made sense. Playing the role she was meant to play, Princess Aurora and not Briar Rose. Smiling for the crowd, smiling for her mother, smiling for her prince and saviour, not making them feel too badly about her condition...

Zenovia turned away behind her, and she turned away from the mirror to observe, or perhaps only to distract herself from her own dour turn of thought.

"I don't enjoy performing, have no need of eyes upon me to feel powerful," Zenovia continued as she surveyed the room. "However, a show of power can be useful, and that can be enjoyable enough, if there's motivation behind it." She seemed to locate an imaginary point in the air, and withdrew from nothingness a ring or a chain of some sort, which seemed to be fashioned out of shards of different metals into links and barbs and thorns and little twists like flowers.

Zenovia turned to face Rose again, approached slowly, as though expecting Rose to back away. "It seems fitting, actually. Briars and roses." Zenovia offered her the chain. "You're familiar with Avasina," she said, as though that were an explanation and not a thousand fresh questions.

"Like the...?" She could not bring herself to voice the word,  _Chains_.

Zenovia contemplated the chain she held in her palm. "A fairy so powerful that all the forces of the skies could not contain her. The story goes that the righteous fae fashioned a thousand different chains for her, all of them broken within a day. She kept a fragment of each metal they used to bind her, and used the fragments to add to her power."

Rose leaned in, dared a step forward. "Is it true?" she breathed.

Zenovia inclined her head thoughtfully. "As with all such tales, I imagine there is some truth to it. There's no doubt that the Chains of Avasina serve their intended purpose on most of the dark fae." She raised her head to meet Rose's rapt gaze. "As to whether they truly held Avasina captive, there is some cause for doubt."

"What do you mean?"

Zenovia opened a clasp on the strange chain. "May I?"

Rose nodded, felt fear and anticipation well up in her heart.

Zenovia moved to stand behind Rose and situated the chain upon her neck. Rose could feel the magic in it, rolling off in waves, pulsing, alive. It was...terrifying. And intoxicating. She shivered.

"I am much older than the fairies who wield that monstrosity called the Chains of Avasina about so recklessly," said Zenovia, and suddenly she seemed it,  _sounded_  it, like she carried the gravitas of her existence in her words. "I am the only surviving daughter of a mother who was, herself, the sole survivor of a madwoman. Avasina outlived many children."

Rose didn't dare to breathe. Zenovia fastened the clasp of the necklace, and Rose felt somehow more immense, more infinite than she could fully comprehend.

"But fairies are seldom entirely mad," said Zenovia, low and dark like distant thunder. "My mother once told me that Avasina went madder with each capture, grew crueler with each link she added to this necklace."

And Rose could see it, faintly, when she closed her eyes—she could see darkness and the shimmering metal bars of prison cells a hundred times over, and she could hear countless crying infants, and she could not bring herself to care for them.

"So, you tell me, Briar Rose," said Zenovia quietly, quieter than the screams of children long gone, less real than the chains on her wrists, chains that could never hold her. "You are hunted and captured, and certainly tortured, as well, a thousand times or so. Do you say,  _keep trying? Do your worst, make your next, most horrible invention, and let it terrorize my people for generations to come?_ " Rose turned to face Zenovia, midnight blue eyes shining brighter than the darkness of the necklace's memories, like stars in a night sky. "Or do you one day grow weary enough to say _, these Chains are enough? I will fall to these so that someone else might survive them?_ "

Downstairs the chatter was beginning to build, and strange, unidentifiable instruments started up tuning. Rose could hear children's voices, loud and happy and laughing—so far removed from the cries of neglected infants in the necklace's memory that it was jarring. She realized suddenly it was strange to think of wicked fairy children, when her best examples were Maleficent and Kinsale and Zenovia and Joy. She couldn't imagine any of them as anything but infinite as compared to her own transient lifespan.

She touched the tips of her fingers to the necklace—delicately, for the barbs were as sharp as they looked. She felt as though Zenovia had given her something monumental, something she might not fully understand for some time to come.

"Perhaps tonight," said Zenovia, and her voice was almost gentle, "you may give yourself leave to celebrate all you have overcome. Wear your broken chains around your neck as a badge of honour."

Impulsively, Rose threw her arms about Zenovia's shoulders. Zenovia made a small noise of disgruntlement, but she did not push Rose away. She returned the embrace stiffly and awkwardly, and just when Rose was about to tell herself to come to her senses and let go, Zenovia said quietly, "And Rose?"

Rose released her vise grip, but did not quite let go of Zenovia's arms. Zenovia allowed it. "Yes?"

Zenovia's brow furrowed subtly, and she thought for some time before she spoke again. "Do not feel you must soften the blow of what you have endured for those who inflicted it upon you. Whether you wish to forgive them is your concern, but the burden of their crimes against you is theirs to bear." Zenovia touched Rose's cheek, lightly, with just her fingertips, and somehow her expression became even more severe than it had been before. "If they cannot endure your anger," she said gravely, "they are unworthy of your mercy."

* * *

"Maleficent." Konstanze met her gaze icily.

"Konstanze," Maleficent replied in kind. "I see you brought your vermin."

Kinsale stepped on Maleficent's foot pointedly. Konstanze opened her mouth as though to retort, but swallowed whatever she meant to say, glared, and followed after the horde of children she and her sister Eleanore had ushered in before them.

"One would think it needn't be said, but most fairies do not like it when you refer to their children as  _vermin_ ," Kinsale admonished her, but not very successfully, as amusement still sparked in her eyes.

Maleficent raised her chin defiantly. "You knew what you were courting when you asked me to stand here with you," she replied coolly.

Kinsale's attempt at sternness broke instantly. "I did, at that," she agreed wickedly.

There was a certain comfort in being able to feel cold again. Everything was warm with dragons, warm blood, warm breath, warm thoughts, melting or igniting. Maleficent breathed in the cool mountain air that rushed in when the doors opened and closed, and wished vaguely that she'd been able to appreciate the beauty of this place when she'd lived here a century prior. She hadn't been able to appreciate much of anything then.

Maleficent didn't find most of Kinsale's acquaintances nearly as fascinating as she seemed to, and so she quickly grew bored with their conversations. She whiled away the time until she might escort Briar Rose to her prescribed 'grand entrance' by flexing her freshly-returned ability to shapeshift. She grew her fingernails, sharpened them, rounded them out, clicked them together, traced the places where the scars she'd been accumulating over the past few years had melted away in a matter of days, until it was as though they were never there at all.

Nonmagical creatures did not lose their scars—they kept them as the reminders their minds could not always contain. Maleficent traced the curve of her cheek absently while Kinsale laughed at someone's asinine idea of a joke, even went so far as to paint on the scars that had lingered there.

"Maleficent, you remember Lovenia, I'm sure."

Maleficent allowed the scars to fade away with a sigh. She would remember them, whether or not she wished it.

She focused her attention on the good fairy Kinsale was introducing to her, and realized that she remembered Lovenia because Lovenia had been among the Mountainland Fairies who had almost murdered her over a bit of unfortunate hearsay.

Maleficent glowered. Lovenia seemed somehow to shrink. She muttered something unintelligible before disappearing into the growing crowd.

"You're really a terrible greeter," said Kinsale, with muted delight.

"Am I dismissed yet?" Maleficent raised an eyebrow, hopeful.

Kinsale linked her arm with Maleficent's. "Not a chance, darling. I haven't had this much fun in years."

Though she knew Kinsale would never admit to it if pressed, Maleficent felt her physically tense when Felicity and a handful of her lackeys showed their faces.

"Felicity, darling!" she said, smooth as silk. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Felicity's smile did not reach her eyes. "A great many events have unfolded of late which I'm sure will prove to be...historic," she said sweetly. "I will be very interested to see how this little spectacle of yours fits among them."

Kinsale's smile was razor-sharp. "What is life without a little spectacle, Felicity?"

Felicity's thin smile faltered. "I pray you know where one ends and the other begins," she replied pointedly, then gestured to her companions to follow her, as though issuing a battle command. "Thank you for the invitation, Kinsale," she said, by way of parting words.

Kinsale sighed pleasantly. "I do hope to see her rotting away in a prison cell someday," she said dreamily.

A harsh cough of laughter escaped Maleficent's lungs. "I was thinking more along the lines of burning alive at a stake."

"Pit of vipers?"

"Bed of hot coals."

"Ooh, good one. I'd love to see her dance."

"May I  _go_  yet?"

Kinsale hung heavy upon her arm again. "Just a little longer, please? I'll be bored out of my mind without you."

Maleficent leveled her with her most long-suffering look. "Then why invite such insufferable people at all?"

Kinsale tsked and shook her head. "A great many events have unfolded of late that will prove to be historic," she said pointedly. "I intend to count this among them."

Maleficent raised her eyes to the ceiling.

"A show of good faith," said Kinsale more plainly. "Mending relations and all that."

"Good faith," Maleficent echoed derisively. "The only show of good faith I have witnessed thus far was Mistress Zalia being carted away to the Sky Dominion for Chaining a human."

"Yes, well, Felicity never technically did anything wrong," said Kinsale.

"Not to anyone still among the living," Maleficent retorted.

"Kih-aaale!" cried the piping voice of a toddler, and Maleficent flinched. A woman with a softer, rounder version of Zenovia's face materialized, and removed the toddler in question from her hip.

"Why, Astrid!" Kinsale cried, delighted, and scooped the child up into her arms. "I'm so glad you could make it. Do you like parties?"

"Yeah," the child nodded.

"Do you like music?"

"Yeah."

And so forth. Maleficent quickly lost interest. "Mistress Elysia, I presume?" she said to the adult, though now that she examined the woman more clearly, there was another little shadow hiding behind her.

"Mistress Maleficent," Elysia guessed. "It's quite an honour, I hear." She dropped her gaze. "Nova, darling, do you want to say hello?"

A little girl with Zenovia's eyes peered out from behind Elysia. She waved shyly. Maleficent waved back awkwardly, surreptitiously stepped on Kinsale's foot.

"Hmm? Oh! Hello, Nova, darling! I didn't even see you! You must take after your great-aunt."

Nova smiled.

"Speaking of which, Maleficent, why don't you go and find Zenovia? I expect she's up hiding with the guest of honour."

"Gladly," Maleficent drawled as she turned towards the stairs.

Kinsale had made quite the spectacle of Zenovia's foyer. The room looked much bigger than it was, somehow, all bright and glittering and filling up with people. It was curious to see someone so unyielding make so many concessions, and yet a part of Maleficent understood it well. At the moment she had hinged much of her immediate future upon the decisions of another, and generally, she wasn't certain she was adapting very well to waiting around. However, given that her own decision would have been to spend the next century or more endeavouring to outrun her emotions, she had conceded that it might be in her better interest to allow someone else to guide her for a time.

She wondered if perhaps Zenovia felt a similar impulse—the impulse to change, to make monumental decisions, or to allow control to be taken from her, in manageable quantities, in the hopes that the new direction would produce new results.

Elysia and her children seemed happy enough, though Maleficent was no expert in such matters. The invitation to the tropical island Elysia called her own had been extended to Maleficent as well as to Kinsale, but the fact that Maleficent despised children notwithstanding, it had seemed a strangely intimate venture, one Maleficent was loath to intrude upon.

She imagined Rose would have enjoyed the trip far better than she, but there would be no telling how a human sorceress would be received there. Zenovia's ancestors, at least, were not renowned for their tolerance. Maleficent supposed that question might well be answered during the course of this evening.

In any event, there were far worse leads Maleficent could follow. Briar Rose could very well pave a bright path for herself, with the resources and the notoriety she had gained. And Maleficent...

Well. Maleficent was not so very much older than Rose by fairy standards, and yet she felt the weight of every last year upon her shoulders. She remembered in her youth she'd known fairies of one or two hundred who still ran about like overgrown children. She supposed they all must have died by now. If not directly by Sara's hand, then as good as. It was a strange time to be alive, a strange time to have lived through, and the change had not yet had time to set in.

* * *

There came a gentle knock upon the door, and Rose's heart stuttered in her chest.

"They found us," Zenovia said dourly.

Rose hazarded a tiny smile in her direction. Zenovia winked.

"Come in," said Rose at last.

Maleficent reentered the room quietly, and Zenovia made a show of sighing heavily.

"I met your great-grand-nieces," said Maleficent flatly.

"They  _adore_  Kinsale," Zenovia replied with marked bemusement.

"Something you wouldn't understand in the slightest," said Maleficent.

Zenovia sighed, adjusted the fluttering dove pin on her lapel. "I don't like anyone when I'm being forced to talk to them," she replied crisply before making her way out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Rose had taken to staring at her reflection in the mirror again. She was beginning to understand why Zenovia refused to have anything to do with them. It was strange to see herself, looking so different and yet so very much the same, all at once.

Maleficent appeared over her shoulder. She, too, avoided looking at her own reflection.

"Do you remember," Maleficent began quietly, "when you thought it was an insult to say I'd never had sex with a man?"

Rose's laughter surprised her, intermingled with a mortified groan as her face descended into her hands. "I was just thinking about how much has changed," she said, in the general direction of the floor. "That sums it up well enough."

Maleficent chuckled, almost gently, and ran her fingertips along the curve of Rose's spine. Rose dared to peek out from the cover of her hands to see that Maleficent was smiling at her. She touched her fingertips to Avasina's necklace.

"Did you know that Zenovia was the granddaughter of Avasina?" Rose breathed, still hardly believing it herself. She couldn't believe that Avasina, a name she had associated only with the worst days of her life, had been a living, breathing person.

"I did," she said quietly. "Though, not because she told me."

Rose lay her hand over Maleficent's upon her chest. "It feels...ancient, and heavy. It holds...memory, as well as magic. It's...more than I can understand, I think. But I feel..." she felt a secret smile playing at her lips. " _Wear your broken chains like a badge of honour_ , that's what she said." She looked up into Maleficent's black eyes, so much softer than she'd ever remembered them. "I feel proud to wear it," she said at last.

Maleficent took Rose's face in her hands, cold and long-fingered, and tingling with a magic all their own, at once unknowable and deeply familiar, and she pressed her lips to Rose's forehead. "So you should," she said. "It suits you."

They stood together in silence for another stolen moment. Rose knew well enough that Maleficent had come upstairs to fetch her, and Maleficent surely sensed Rose's hesitation. Rose tried to remember what Maleficent had said to her before, that she'd be what she was no matter what others saw, but now, faced with the reality of what this evening might hold, she felt little more than cold terror in her veins.

"Shall we?" Maleficent urged at last.

Rose was overcome suddenly by another memory—of Kinsale hiding her away in her study when her aunts, all three of them, alive and well and worried about her, had come after her. She remembered the way the surge of emotions had threatened to tear her apart then, the fear and the longing and the uncertainty.

It was a sad memory now. There were so few memories of Aunt Flora that Briar Rose could stand to entertain, and that one stung particularly badly, even in light of all that had followed. At the same time, there was a twisted sort of comfort in its distance.

She did not feel as though she would be torn apart now. She did not feel uncertain of herself, even if the path ahead of her was unclear.

Zenovia had given her a tremendous gift, indeed.

Rose raised her eyes to Maleficent and nodded firmly, and Maleficent led her from the room. They paused just shy of the light streaming into the upstairs hallway, Maleficent's fingertips at Rose's back. "Are you ready?" Maleficent asked her one last time, low and rich, not a breath away from her ear.

Rose leaned into her a moment, soaked in the faint warmth and the comfort of her sturdy presence. She closed her eyes, breathed in, and forgot about the world that awaited her. Whatever happened, whatever people saw, or thought, or said, or did, she would still be herself. And she would still have Maleficent at her side. After all that had transpired, that was...so much more than she ever could have dreamed.

"Ladies and gentlefairies!" Kinsale's voice resounded through the halls, magically amplified.

Rose felt Maleficent's lips against her temple.

"It is my honour to present to you, celebrating her nineteenth nameday and her blossoming sorcery, Mistress Briar Rose!"

_Celebrate all you have overcome. Wear your broken chains around your neck as a badge of honour._

Maleficent offered her arm, and Rose leaned heavily upon it as they came into the light and descended the stairs together.

She felt another memory overtaking her, the past burning brighter than the present in her mind's eye, a frightened child just awoken from a cursed sleep, scanning a room full of strangers for something to hold onto. There'd been music then, too, she thought, and no one had announced her because no one had known she was coming, and she had barely understood, herself, only known that she must keep moving forward, must keep grasping onto Phillip's arm, must not fall asleep again.

Just as before, Rose's eyes fell at last upon the face that was like the mirror her friends avoided, the face of her mother, the Queen. Queen Leah stood like a beacon, along with her aunts, her guardians, the ones who had loved her all the days of her life, in whatever way they knew how.

And Briar Rose found that she was happy to see them again. And just that, the ability she found within herself to feel happiness at the sight of them, overwhelmed her with joy, and she smiled at them.

An endless stream of fairies, both wicked and good, appeared to greet her. Most took her hands in theirs and bowed their foreheads against her knuckles. Some wicked fairies did not reach out for her, only folded their hands and bowed their heads solemnly. Rose returned whatever gesture she was offered in kind.

At last she landed upon her Aunt Fauna, who embraced her fondly. "I'm so happy to see you," Rose put voice to her thoughts.

"Oh, me, too, Rosie," said Fauna, and when she pulled away Rose could see that her smile was a tearful one. "We've so much to catch up on, don't we?"

Rose felt tears stinging in her own eyes, but they felt...happy. Light. She nodded. "I'd like that," she said, "very much."

"Who'd have thought," said Merryweather, shaking her head. "Being invited to a wicked fairy party. Ha!"

"Oh, Aunt Merryweather, I meant to—look!" said Rose, and twirled a few times to show off the way the colours of her dress changed from pink to blue and back again.

"Rose..." Merryweather breathed. "You did that? You made that?"

"Well," Rose inclined her head in the direction of Kinsale, all glittering silver and gold as she mingled with her guests, "I had a lot of help, of course."

Merryweather grinned, squeezed Rose's hands, and her wings fluttered and her feet left the ground as she twirled around with Rose. "I love it!" she cried. "I love it, I love it, I love it!"

Rose embraced Aunt Merryweather soundly while they laughed, but the smile faltered upon her lips when she locked eyes with the face like a mirror.

"Rose," said the Queen.

"Oh, it's so wonderful, Rosie!" Merryweather patted her arm. "We'll go mingle and give you a minute to catch up." Merryweather took Fauna's arm and dragged her towards the refreshments.

As she watched them go, Rose saw Joy for the first time all day. She'd chosen trousers and a waistcoat for her formalwear, but the brightness of her tunic suggested Kinsale's interference. Her arm was slung about the shoulders of a wicked fairy whom Rose thought she might be able to identify as Makeda of the Desertlands, both talking excitedly, and spilling punch from their glasses when they laughed.

Rose returned her attention to the Queen. "You can call me Aurora, if you like," she said. "I don't mind."

The Queen smiled sadly. "Whoever you are to me doesn't change who you are to yourself," she echoed words from before, not comprehending the difference.

Another memory—the Queen bound by a spell Rose didn't know—Maleficent had brought her there for Rose to find, for Rose to...

Rose forced a smile, wrung her hands. "Thank you," she said, simply.

They stood in silence a moment too long, each struggling for something to say, and somewhere nearby, one of Kinsale's brothers was saying, "Aw, come on, sis, is this a wicked fairy party or what?"

And Kinsale cried in response, "The punch was  _already_ spiked, you idiot!"

Rose stifled a chuckle in spite of herself, and as she hazarded a glance at them, suddenly, she could see it. She could see the wicked fairy children running after one another, and she could see Kinsale and her brothers as children, too. Life, slower and more drawn out than that of humans, but moving forward nonetheless.

The Queen's brow was furrowed. "I was glad of the invitation," she said slowly. "But I confess...I cannot imagine how you feel...at home, here."

It was a strange thing to say, and Rose felt herself bristle instinctively. But she reminded herself to have patience, not to lash out just because she was feeling vulnerable, or awkward. She remembered what Maleficent had said to her—that she would be what she was, no matter what anyone else saw.

She touched her fingertips to her necklace, and remembered the screams of a woman who could not bring herself to feel sympathy. She tried to be better.

"Would...you like me to...introduce you?" she tried, with an awkward shrug.

The Queen's brow furrowed further. "To whom?" she almost...challenged. "To Maleficent?"

Rose shook her head in frustration. "Did you come here to pick a fight?" she wondered, perhaps cruelly, and the Queen's surprise made her feel instantly guilty.

"No!" said the Queen. "Why would you say such a thing?"

Rose steeled herself, closed her eyes a moment to block out all the colour and light and noise. "So much has happened," she said, quietly. "Everyone is here because...well. Most of them are here to make amends. To make a new start. Can't we...put aside...some of the past, just for a little while?"

The Queen regarded her with something like skepticism, but she nodded slowly. "All right," she said quietly. Her gaze fell somewhere over Rose's shoulder, then, "All right," she said again, more firmly.

Just over the Queen's shoulder, Rose could see Mistress Elysia's children leading the children of Mistresses Konstanze and Eleanore into swarming Zenovia, all alight with questions and senseless chatter. Zenovia stared down at them with marked vexation, glanced around the room as though to determine their motives, and caught sight of Rose watching her. She winked, mouthed,  _now you see me_ , and waved herself from existence. The children cheered.

Rose laughed along with them, and before she had time to realize what had transpired, the Queen was making her way across the room to where Kinsale and Maleficent stood.

* * *

"Kin-saaaaale!" One of the Mountainland Fairies—Euphemia, or something—clapped Kinsale on the shoulder, and pulled her into a strangely aggressive sort of embrace.

"Good to see you, darling," said Kinsale. "I'm glad a few of your comrades can see reason."

"Ugh," she agreed, and ran her hand through her spikey hair. "I love them all to pieces, but they can get their heads lodged so far up their asses sometimes, I swear. Hey, uh..." her attention turned suddenly and sharply to Maleficent, who had been studying the contents of the beverage Kinsale had shoved into her hand. "Speaking of which, no hard feelings, yeah? About almost killing you, I mean. It was all...a pretty horrible misunderstanding."

Maleficent raised her eyes, disbelieving, took a long sip from Kinsale's mystery beverage. "No hard feelings," she echoed, with as little mockery as she could manage.

"Right," said Euphemia. "Well. Enjoy your drink. Anyway, talk later, Kinsale?" Another clap on the shoulder, and then she disappeared quickly into a crowd of good fairies.

"She was trying to apologize," Kinsale whispered.

"And here I thought only the wicked fae were terrible at apologies," Maleficent replied mildly.

Kinsale tutted and shook her head. "Drink your punch and try not to start a brawl," she said, and then her eyes positively lit up. "Oh, here's an excellent chance! That pretty little human is coming over to talk to us!"

Maleficent did not generally indulge in the use of foul language; however, she felt that if ever there were a time for an expletive, it would be this one. "Shit."

Kinsale's voice was heavy with barely-contained laughter. "Come now, be nice to your—what's that human phrase? In-law?"

Now it was Maleficent's turn to step on Kinsale's foot.

"Hello," said Queen Leah.

"Your Majesty!" Kinsale effused, and reached out to take her hands and press her forehead against them. It was an old form of deference most common among the wicked fae. There was something strangely refreshing about seeing it displayed so often this evening. "What an honour that you were able to make it! I hope I didn't deter His Majesty from joining you."

The queen averted her eyes. "No," she said, but there was a small smile upon her lips. Maleficent had met few who were not susceptible to Kinsale's charms. "King Stefan...did not wish to join me, for his own reasons," she finished, cryptically.

"Well, it's his loss, isn't it?" said Kinsale with a charming grin and a wink. "Anyway, I'd best get back to mingling. Let me get you a drink, Majesty!"

"Oh, no, that's—" but the drink had already flown into her hand. "Thank you," she managed, but Kinsale had already orchestrated a hasty exit.

Queen Leah's eyes, the same bright violet-blue of Rose's, fell upon Maleficent.

"Your Majesty," said Maleficent stiffly, with a small bow of her head.

"It's strange to find ourselves here, isn't it?" the Queen wondered.

"I...suppose so, yes. What, if I may ask, were the King's 'own reasons'?" Maleficent wondered.

The Queen lowered her eyes to the drink Kinsale had thrust at her, traced her finger along the rim of the glass idly. "He refused to come into...well, into a wicked fairy's home," she confessed.

"The den of a monster?" Maleficent guessed airily.

Queen Leah didn't answer. "I feel I owe you some sort of apology," she said, instead, still talking into the glass.

A small breath of amusement escaped Maleficent's lungs. "It seems you share that impulse with many others tonight."

Queen Leah turned too-familiar eyes on her once more, as though searching for something in her face. "I'm not sure where to begin," she said sorrowfully.

Maleficent inclined her head contemplatively. "Neither is anyone else," she said.

The Queen averted her eyes once more. "This whole party feels...pointed. Almost vengeful, if I'm speaking plainly. Do you...think it is?"

Were Maleficent another person, she might have indulged in a cold kind of chuckle. As it stood, she merely felt an old irritation prickling at her skin. "Coming from one so spiteful as myself, I hope you will be able to appreciate the gravity of what I am about to say to you: to look upon this glittering assemblage before us and to think of it as merely a ploy to spite you, or a handful of your people, is... _remarkably_  self-indulgent. If I am speaking plainly," she amended, icily.

"How else am I supposed to see such an invitation?" the Queen countered, affronted.

Maleficent shook her head, disbelieving. She was beginning to feel out of her depth, and the sensation did not sit well with her. "As an attempt to make amends?" she waved vaguely. "A friendly gesture? If you look at a celebration of life and see only old wounds, Majesty, then I've no idea why you've ever seen fit to look down upon me." She took a long sip from her drink, finally tasted the alcohol in it, said a silent thanks to Kinsale for small mercies.

"You mean to say that we are the same?" the Queen balked.

Maleficent's eyes fell to the Mountainland Fairies, talking jovially with Kinsale and her brothers across the room.  _No hard feelings_. She contemplated Queen Leah, weak-willed, a slave to the world she had grown up in, who had asked for Maleficent's help and then been unable to muster the courage to pay her price.

 _No hard feelings_.

She scanned the room once more until her eyes found pink and blue swirling in and out of one another. Briar Rose was talking happily with Mistresses Fauna and Merryweather, introducing them to Kinsale's brother Velan, of all people.

 _I will try_ , she had promised. She closed her eyes. "It is strange to find ourselves here, yes," she said at last. "But perhaps for the moment, rather than attempting to tear apart every obvious flaw, we might endeavour to...enjoy it." She frowned to herself, scanned the room once more, thoughtfully. "For whatever time it lasts," she amended quietly, speaking far more to herself than to the Queen.

Briar Rose caught her eye from across the room, left momentarily unattended by her good fairy guardians, and Maleficent jumped at the opportunity to excuse herself. She had endured five minutes more idle chatter than she ever would have dreamed. That was quite enough  _trying_ , as far as she was concerned.

* * *

"Hey, hey!" Joy was yelling over the din of the crowd, and she was gesturing excitedly to the band, stretching her arms like she was going to fight. The fairies holding strange instruments grinned and nodded at her, and one of them produced a musical score proudly. She waved her hand in a pattern, and the others grabbed eagerly at the magical copies that appeared.

Joy turned and waved her hands at the room. "Hey, everyone! Who remembers this one?"

The band erupted into a vivacious song, strange and otherworldly as anything fairies ever played, and Joy threw herself into a dance that was truly bizarre to witness. She sashayed across the floor, slapping her knees and clapping her hands in time with the lively music, jumped in the air, spun around a few times, and eventually repeated the pattern. Some of the guests started laughing uproariously, or clapping along, and they all dispersed to make room for Joy.

"Hell's sake, that's so  _old_ , Joy!" someone cried, and she responded with an obscene hand gesture as she spun around in the air and moved her dance in Kinsale's direction.

"Come on, Kinsale, you know you want to!" she cried as she approached, and Kinsale hopped excitedly, gathered up her skirt, and joined in with a skillful twirl to start the next round of the strange pattern.

Everyone watched, and clapped, and laughed, and some even bounced along, and after another round, a few more brave souls joined in the strange dance. Rose leaned in, fascinated, and then chanced a glance up at Maleficent, who was watching them almost solemnly.

"An old...wicked fairy dance?" she guessed.

Maleficent regarded her as though surprised to see her still standing there. " _Very_  old," she drawled.

Rose twisted her fingers in the shimmering fabric of her skirt. "It...looks fun," she said, averting her gaze back to the ever-growing array of enthusiastic dancers.

Kinsale had stopped to teach the dance to her terrifying Mountainland Fairy friends, and Joy was across the floor tugging at Zenovia's arm as though she had any chance of moving her with physical force. Fauna and Merryweather were huddled up against the wall with a group of good fairies who appeared to have no intention of joining in, but the Queen, to Rose's immense surprise, was leaning in with interest just as Rose was.

She felt Maleficent's hand upon her back, nudging her forward, but a peculiar kind of anxiety twisted her stomach, and she shook her head. "No, I don't...I couldn't. I mean."

"What's stopping you?" Maleficent wondered.

Another old memory, or perhaps several, all intermingled and bleeding into one another. Dancing alone in the woods and dreaming a handsome prince would come and dance with her. Dancing with the mysterious stranger and getting all caught up trying to follow the practiced pattern of his feet. Being Chained and forgetting all she'd ever known of music, not being able to produce a simple melody, remember a string of words. Singing wordlessly to the birds outside the Sea Kingdom just to prove she could, that she was still alive, that she had not been broken irreparably.

Wear your broken chains around your neck like a badge of honour.

Rose's pleading look rather abruptly turned mischievous. "What's stopping you?" she countered.

"I don't dance," she replied crisply.

Rose raised her chin. "I think you do," she dared.

Maleficent's eyes narrowed. "Oh? And what makes you think such a thing?"

The band came to the end of the song, and a handful of revelers cried out in a chorus, "Again, again!" They all hurriedly flipped back to the beginning in their scores to start afresh, and everyone cheered, and started up dancing right away. The dance looked absurd when just one person was throwing herself about, but when a whole room full of fairies imbued with otherworldly grace threw themselves about together, it was marvelous to behold.

At the edge of the room, Kinsale approached Zenovia with hands clasped behind her back and a sway in her hips. Zenovia regarded her coolly for a moment, but then Kinsale leaned in and said something, and Zenovia's face broke into a full grin, and she  _laughed_ , audibly, shook her head in disbelief, and allowed herself to be pulled into the dance, grinning widely at Kinsale the whole way.

"I think you want to dance, too," said Rose as she watched them hop wildly across the floor together.

"Perhaps," Maleficent conceded. "A bit later." She pressed lightly upon Rose's back again. "Go. Joy will teach you." Rose shot one last hopeful glance in Maleficent's direction, but Maleficent inclined her head and added, "And take your mother with you. She's depressing me."'

Rose's eyes fell to the Queen once more, still leaning in like she wanted to join, wanted to reach out, but something was stopping her, forever holding her back.

Rose squeezed Maleficent's arm before she rushed forward into the fray, grabbing the Queen's hand as she went and waving wildly at Joy.

Joy let go of Makeda's hands with a flourish and waved them over, delight so much more fitting upon her features than the usual exhausted melancholy. She greeted the Queen the way the other wicked fairies had greeted Rose, by taking her hands and bowing low to press her forehead into them.

Then, in stark contrast to such a show of deference, she waved her hands in the general direction of her thighs. "Now, get a good hold on those damned skirts of yours, ladies," she called over the music. "I don't want any fragile humans breaking their ankles!"

She taught them the most basic steps, which felt as awkward and silly as they'd looked at first, and then, without so much as a word of affirmation, she shoved them both into the center of the floor. Mistress Elysia faltered a moment, looked at them sharply as they approached, but after she'd watched them attempt the wicked fairy dance for a few seconds, she inclined her head thoughtfully and nodded, as though to herself, and suddenly the family resemblance to Zenovia was much easier to spot.

"One more time!" Joy cried to the band.

"One more time, one more time!" the crowd cheered. Rose could see the fairies in the band laughing as they flipped through their music. A couple switched out their instruments, and when the tune started up again, there were new tones, impossible to describe in human terms, and the whole piece took on a new life, like the music was dancing along with them.

They jumped and twirled, jumped and twirled, ran around one another and wove in and out in lines, and as they passed, the wicked fairies who recognized them whooped and pumped their fists in approval. The Queen smiled at them, small and subdued, but real, and Rose realized suddenly that the Queen looked happier, and more alive, than she ever had, in the entirety of Rose's acquaintance with her.

Across the way, Joy had linked arms with Zenovia, and they traced some complicated pattern of their own together, something that felt as ancient as the necklace Zenovia had offered.

They jumped and twirled, jumped and twirled, and as the music drew to a properly dramatic finish, they all collapsed, or doubled over, panting and sweating and smiling and laughing, good fairies and wicked fairies and humans, all together.

"Kinsale, Kinsale!" someone in the band was whispering, but loud enough for the whole room to hear. Rose looked over to see Kinsale, glistening all over, being handed some new strange instrument and ushered to a seat with a score.

She was laughing, waving them off, as she situated her instrument and her music to her liking, and then she began to play, and the room went silent but for her song.

Rose realized, slowly, that she thought she knew the song. It was like an echo of something she'd once heard, a tune she used to sing to herself, a waltz and a lullaby and a relic from a life she'd hardly had the time to know, augmented by whatever mystical quality made a harplike contraption sound like the distant calling of some ancient spirit whenever it sounded.

_I know you, I walked with you once upon a..._

The crowd began to fall away around Briar Rose, and she was stricken by a peculiar chill in the air, somewhere around her shoulders. She turned to see only Maleficent, parting the sea of people as though by magic, eclipsing everything around herself as she made her way to the center of the room.

"Her Excellency," said Maleficent, quietly, but crystal-clear above only the music Kinsale played, "has requested a dance." She offered her hand.

Rose felt her hands clench into fists in the fabric of her skirt. She felt every eye in the room shift suddenly from Maleficent to her, and she realized, belatedly, that  _her Excellency_  referred to her, to Briar Rose.

Rose's fingertips found their way to the necklace then, for some strange kind of comfort, or guidance, or for a warning, but instead of Avasina's memories, she felt only her own. She remembered footsteps on stairs in a winding tower, a mysterious shadow that wanted her dead, a mysterious shadow in chains who only wanted to live, who offered Briar Rose her freedom in return.

She remembered fear, and confusion, and a mind always sluggish and hazy as she struggled to take in the newfound breadth of the world around her. She remembered an enigmatic woman who showed her a dragon, who showed her magic, who showed her fragments of a life so far removed from anything Rose had ever known that it was endlessly overwhelming. She remembered struggling to read Mistress Joy,  _humans are forgetful in their transience,_  Kinsale's razor-sharp smile and how she'd had no choice but to trust it.

She remembered a hand, reaching, longing to reach out, and a hand, clenching, a woman, towering over her, meaning to frighten, to intimidate. She remembered a feeling of foolish helplessness. How could she ever have hoped to grasp at these fragments she had been shown?

She remembered wrists bound and wrists breaking. She remembered faces, people she wanted to love, looking upon her with nothing but dutiful pity, refusing to help her, refusing to understand. She remembered the dearth of music and of magic where they had always been, so much a part of herself that she had hardly known what to miss when they had been rent from the very marrow of her bones, so much a part of her that of course her bones would break from the absence of them.

She remembered darkness. Utter hollowness. Blood. Certainty.

In the present, she felt her feet moving forward, slowly, stuck out of time, and her hand outstretched even as one remained steadfastly at the necklace of Avasina. She saw only Maleficent, eyes all at once dark like the night and bright like a beacon, the only thing driving her onward, the only thing keeping her afloat.

In her memory she saw Maleficent half-dead in the room they'd shared in Zenovia's tiny fortress, a hovel compared to this place she called her home. She saw Zenovia as she had seen her then, impossible, infinite, tall and hulking and severe and offering to help. She saw Maleficent, smaller, diminished, a shadow of herself, and remembered the warmth, the closeness, the desperation when Maleficent begged her to turn away from these fragments of life she had been offered.

She remembered...horror, ancient and recent, centuries-old wounds and ones still fresh and aching. Intermingled with a wicked fairy's consciousness, it was as though the very air screamed around her, all torn apart with the garish colours of battle magic. Horror after horror flashed before her eyes, some horrors hers and others Avasina's—an emaciated child with Zenovia's eyes wielding a staff, a middle-aged good fairy screaming as she was rent to pieces by a spell its caster did not understand, a thousand chains or more, each one broken, each one added to a necklace, to be worn as a badge of honour, but each one demanding a piece of her as payment for her freedom, a woman with a face like a mirror begging her to turn her back on these fragments of life she could not begin to grasp at, telling her it wasn't too late, telling her there was still time.

Her vision blurred in and out of reality—saw Maleficent in darkfinery reaching out to her for a dance and Maleficent with the wild eyes of a dragon, allowing herself to be taken down. She felt the fury, the loathing, the heartbreak, the guilt, as though they were new.

Footsteps on stairs in a winding tower, a mysterious shadow that wanted her dead, but she'd hardly had a life to speak of. Footsteps on stairs leading down, an enigmatic woman in chains whom she loved desperately, who had forgotten what it was to live, who had forgotten why it mattered.

In the present, Rose's hand found Maleficent's. Maleficent's lips quirked upward in a secret smile. She curtseyed low and pressed her forehead against Rose's proffered hand. Rose curtseyed in kind, felt a small smile of her own taking shape, felt the tiniest flicker of hope taking shape within her heart.

"I'm...not sure I remember how," Rose faltered, turning wide, searching eyes upon Maleficent. "I'm not sure I ever knew." She didn't know how to explain, how it had been so long since she had danced like this, and how that felt more like a distant dream than a memory.

"There is no shame in that," said Maleficent. "So much has transpired, and you have emerged from the wreckage all new. What matters now," she rested a hand upon Rose's waist, moved in closer, "is that you wish to try."

And after a few seconds, Rose forgot all about the steps and struggling to follow them. She allowed her feet to fall where they might, allowed Maleficent to carry them both with that otherworldly fairy's grace of which Rose possessed only a fraction. She allowed the faces of the crowd watching them to fade away, allowed herself to imagine that they were dancing on air, that they were dancing among the stars or among clouds.

Beyond the realm of her perception, others joined in the dance. Joy coerced Zenovia into dancing with her, the two Mountainland Fairies joined in with fluttering wings to carry them, and Kinsale's brother Velan came sort of shuffling over to Merryweather and asked her, with no small amount of awkwardness, if she might like to dance. Merryweather's first response was one of somewhat rude surprise, but Fauna nudged her gently, and Merryweather considered Velan a moment with skeptical eyes before she frowned, nodded sternly, and offered her hand.

Fauna and Leah stood at the sidelines, watching the bizarre configurations of good and wicked fairies spinning across the floor, each avoiding looking at the two who danced in the center of it all. Their eyes fell to Mistress Kinsale, who was still happily plucking at her stringed contraption, adding in flourishs that soared like a song from the heavens, while the fairies who had been in the band took up dancing, themselves, and scanned back over to Merryweather and Velan, who were at the very least smiling amicably as they fumbled through the steps of the waltz.

There was a flash of blue, pink, blue as Maleficent led Briar Rose in a sweeping turn beneath her arm, and when Rose moved into Maleficent, Maleficent was smiling so brightly it wrinkled her prominent hooked nose and dimpled her gaunt cheeks. Rose threw her arms about Maleficent's neck and pulled her down for a kiss before they spun into the waltz once more.

Fauna clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sudden sob.

"Why, Fauna, dear," Queen Leah touched her arm. "What's the matter?"

"Oh," she breathed tearfully, shook her head as she watched them, her little Rose and the fairy she loved, who, in spite of everything, was trying to love her, "it's nothing, really. I just..."

The waltz ended with a flourish, and the dancers broke apart all smiling at one another, laughing or holding hands or clapping, or crying out, "One more, one more!"

One of the Mountainland Fairies tapped Kinsale excitedly, produced some strange instrument of her own from thin air, and shoved Kinsale in the general direction of the dance floor, where Mistress Zenovia held out a hand to her. The hulking good fairy with the spikey hair played a different tune, something darker and richer. Zenovia and Kinsale danced like they'd done it a thousand times before, like they knew one another inside and out, and each anticipated the other's movements so flawlessly that they pulled off turns and flourishes and rapid changes that baffled the senses of the casual observer.

Kinsale's eldest brother, Nicodemus, was busy attempting to cajole Joy into dancing with him, and though she made a great show of exasperation, she relented with a smirk, and they tore across the room like a natural disaster.

Rose stood on Maleficent's feet as they danced, so Maleficent could lead her in the steps. For the most part, she watched with rapt attention to pick up the movements, but there was an instant where they both paused, eyes locked, and shared a smile all their own, before they fell into step with the other dancers, a twirl of purple and black and blue and pink and green and gold.

"I just...love happy endings," Fauna breathed at last, so quietly she doubted the Queen could hear her over the soaring music. In her mind, she imagined Flora standing next to her, looking faintly scandalized at the way things had turned out, but conceding to happiness in spite of it all.

 _Yes_ , she'd say, patting Fauna's arm.  _I do, too—oh! Blue. What a ghastly colour._

As though in response, Briar Rose twirled under Maleficent's arm, and her dress flashed from blue to pink and back again.


	36. Index of Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the art inspired by the Prisoner that I have been made aware of, or come across in my travels! Please feel free to let me know if I've failed to list something, or if the artist would like to be credited differently.
> 
> Updated 05/05/2018

##   Maleficent

 **[Maleficent, Chapter 1](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fbelovedeyes82.deviantart.com%2Fart%2FThe-Prisoner-416551278&t=NzRjY2Y5MzAzMTYwZWRiNmYyZjgxYTFhMDRkZjM0ZjIwYmNkNmZkMSxvQVFEMG5LRw%3D%3D&b=t%3AenqzDJ2ATS0NOPGzuHpKiA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsuperfluouskeys.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F164692467969%2Fprisoner-art-masterpost-30&m=1)**  - belovedeyes82

 **[Maleficent](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/110653352044/misslestrange274-and-finally-the-last-piece-i)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Maleficent, short hair](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/110652439719/misslestrange274-this-is-maleficent-with-short)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Maleficent](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/114894280169/lady-crushes-friday-superfluouskeys-i-really)**  - lady-crushes-friday

 **[Maleficent with her hair down](http://artwaffle142.tumblr.com/post/151318074378/my-first-inktober-maleficent-with-her-hair-down)**  - [@artwaffle142](https://tmblr.co/mKmUc1PgRl3EEMQChcYw6Qg)

 **[Maleficent, Chapter 33](http://artwaffle142.tumblr.com/post/155794603953/and-rose-had-never-seen-maleficent-smile-this)**  - @artwaffle142

##   Briar Rose

[ **Rose**  ](http://misslestrange274.tumblr.com/post/110330457455/heres-briar-rose-d-superfluouskeys-there-are)\- misslestrange274

 **[Briar Rose, recoloured](http://nikasartblog274.tumblr.com/post/139487801003/briar-rose-from-superfluouskeys-wonderful-fic)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Rose, spring](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/166954448389/misslestrange274-it-was-strange-to-see-herself)**  - misslestrange274

##   Mistress Kinsale

 **[Kinsale](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fnyssasaralee.deviantart.com%2Fart%2FKinsale-442596093&t=NGJjOTQ5ZWY0NTA3MzI4YWE1Y2JjNDAzOWI3Y2ZmYzAxOGYwZTdkNixxQmtwMlptSQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AenqzDJ2ATS0NOPGzuHpKiA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsuperfluouskeys.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173585392139%2Fprisoner-art-masterpost-40&m=1)**  - [nyssasaralee](http://tmblr.co/mqj9l-ESNt4O2q-wVNmFQYA)

 **[Kinsale](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/108202399114/glitteringassemblage-a-quick-sketch-of-mistress)**  - glitteringassemblage

 **[Kinsale](http://morganadraco.tumblr.com/post/109614441635/after-what-has-probably-been-almost-a-year-i-have)**  - [morganadraco](http://tmblr.co/mAQmsFSheKof-N3p2TL8CmA)

 **[Kinsale](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/110653094559/misslestrange274-aaaaaaand-a-colored-kinsale-as)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Portrait of Kinsale](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/158327080249/nikasartblog274-portrait-of-kinsale-from)**  - misslestrange274

 **[DA-inspired Kinsale Tarot Card](http://artwaffle142.tumblr.com/post/162631911633/da-inspired-kinsale-tarot-card-my-favorite)**  - @artwaffle142

 **[Mistress Kinsale, autumn](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/166851221404/misslestrange274-mistress-kinsale-from)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Mistress Kinsale portraits](http://misslestrange274.tumblr.com/post/170196796465/mistress-kinsale)**  - misslestrange274

##   Mistress Zenovia

 **[Zenovia](http://rocket2saturn.tumblr.com/post/118315396509/finally-got-around-to-coloring-this-my-girlfriend)**  - [rocket2saturn](http://tmblr.co/mQAZ-VyQ1THwD-HzfHyUMcA)

 **[Zenovia](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/113736274359/misslestrange274-and-finally-zenovia)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Zenovia](http://artwaffle142.tumblr.com/post/148798533003/superfluouskeys-help-i-just-re-read-the-prisoner)**  - @artwaffle142

 **[Mistress Zenovia of the Mountainlands](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/170070400834/misslestrange274-mistress-zenovia-of-the)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Always a good time for Zenovia](https://marrymehesterharper.tumblr.com/post/171067516573/felt-like-drawing-zenovia)**  - misslestrange274

 **[This one is called “dude she’s ripped”](http://misslestrange274.tumblr.com/post/170940748260/headcanon-zenovia-doesnt-make-a-habit-of-working)**  - misslestrange274

##   Mistress Joy

 **[Joy](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/113455072179/misslestrange274-so-finally-heres-joy-from-the)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Joy and Terra](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/122722146084/fan-art-time-finally-d)**  - smilingspider

##   Maleficent and Rose

 **[The Prisoner](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fbelovedeyes82.deviantart.com%2Fart%2FThe-Prisoner-366504344&t=NTJjMzY2MDhiYTcxM2RkYmE2NmUxNTEyZDY1ZWE1OTQ0MGFhNzE4MixvQVFEMG5LRw%3D%3D&b=t%3AenqzDJ2ATS0NOPGzuHpKiA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsuperfluouskeys.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F164692467969%2Fprisoner-art-masterpost-30&m=1) ** \- belovedeyes82

 **[Maleficent and Rose](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fharpyvixen.deviantart.com%2Fart%2FRose-and-Maleficent-425279839&t=OTJhOGU2ZjMxOGI0ZjhiNjMzMjY2NmFkMmQ5YWEzMmQ0NTZjNTA1MyxxQmtwMlptSQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AenqzDJ2ATS0NOPGzuHpKiA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsuperfluouskeys.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173585392139%2Fprisoner-art-masterpost-40&m=1)**  - harpyvixen

 **[Maleficent and Rose, Chapter 27](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/121973235934/misslestrange274-some-malora-fan-art-for-the)**  - [@misslestrange274](https://tmblr.co/myre90EBWRbS0bCVFGezt4A)

 **[Reunion, Chapter 33](http://rocket2saturn.tumblr.com/post/156273566459/based-on-the-reunion-scene-in-chapter-33-of-the)**  - [@rocket2saturn](https://tmblr.co/mQAZ-VyQ1THwD-HzfHyUMcA)

 **[Maleficent and Rose’s Reunion, Chapter 33](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/155819408374/nikasartblog274-illustration-of-maleficents-and)**  - @misslestrange274

 **[Maleficent and Rose, Chapter 33](http://rocket2saturn.tumblr.com/post/156900622194/oh-we-walk-together-and-talk-together-and-just)**  - [@rocket2saturn](https://tmblr.co/mQAZ-VyQ1THwD-HzfHyUMcA)

 **[Maleficent and Rose cover art](https://marrymehesterharper.tumblr.com/post/170230951473/3-cover-art-for-the-prisoner-by-superfluouskeys) ** - [@misslestrange274](https://tmblr.co/myre90EBWRbS0bCVFGezt4A)

##   Kinsale and Zenovia

 **[Kinsale and Zenovia, Chapter 27](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/121684726954/misslestrange274-after-like-three-months-im-a)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Kinsale and Zenovia, Chapter 31](http://sangamanga.tumblr.com/post/144215060532/when-superfluouskeys-dropped-the-newest-chapter)**  - @sangamanga

 **[Kinsale and Zenovia](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/150793266224/nikasartblog274-quiet-quiet-or-theyll-hear)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Zenovia and Kinsale](http://misslestrange274.tumblr.com/post/164780452635/so-i-drew-zenovia-and-kinsale-since-the) ** \- misslestrange274

 **[Kinovia doodle](http://artwaffle142.tumblr.com/post/155638319608/when-you-love-kinovia-so-much-you-accidentally-end)**  - @artwaffle142

 **[Kinsale and Zenovia portraits](http://misslestrange274.tumblr.com/post/170222720300/kinsale-laughed-and-kissed-her-cheek-and-zenovia)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Kinsale and Zenovia, Chapter 35](https://marrymehesterharper.tumblr.com/post/173575334038/zenovia-and-kinsale-danced-like-theyd-done-it-a)**  - misslestrange274

##   Other/multiple

 **[Kinsale and scenes from Chapters 17 and 18](http://thecoldneverbotheredannaanyway.tumblr.com/post/80328554487/my-the-prisoner-fan-art-mistress-kinsale)**  -[thecoldneverbotheredannaanyway](http://tmblr.co/mcIadIFZkpKYTnkkJbB20ig)

 **[Character sketches, Kinsale, Zenovia, Joy, Maleficent](http://rocket2saturn.tumblr.com/post/108155166349/from-left-to-right-mistresses-kinsale-zenovia)**  - rocket2saturn

 **[Character sketches, Zenovia, Joy, Maleficent, Kinsale, Rose](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/113482518654/misslestrange274-uuuuuups-my-hand-slipped-o-some)**  - misslestrange274

 ** ~~Above character sketches, coloured~~**  - misslestrange274 (I lost this one, sorry!  :-(  I’d be v surprised if I didn’t reblog it so I’m sure it’s somewhere but I didn’t tag it properly.)

 **[Chapter 27 sketches](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/114862940724/misslestrange274-i-may-or-may-not-ship-kinovia)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Mistress Sara, winter](http://misslestrange274.tumblr.com/post/166773722380/there-were-dangers-to-be-found-certainly-but)**  - misslestrange274

 **[Character sketches](http://tateshi.tumblr.com/post/167626271557/a-good-friend-of-mine-sent-me-this-awesome-fanfic)**  - [@tateshi](https://tmblr.co/mr_zkNwkf15iivAWnUR8egQ)

 **[Rose, Maleficent, Kinsale, Titania, and Zenovia](https://eternallifeandtwingoats.tumblr.com/post/170307605685/i-thought-ill-post-this-about-the-time-the)**  - [@eternallifeandtwingoats](https://tmblr.co/mnjo3LMW2iFgr5ZTmd4sN2Q)

 **[Zenovia, Kinsale, Maleficent, Rose, smiles!](http://superfluouskeys.tumblr.com/post/172960544674/zenovia-kinsale-maleficent-briar-rose)**  - misslestrange274 

##   The Artists

[misslestrange274](http://misslestrange274.tumblr.com/) – art blog: [marrymehesterharper](http://marrymehesterharper.tumblr.com/) | [deviantart  
](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fmisslestrange274.deviantart.com%2Fgallery%2F&t=ODY1ZmE3YWY2ZDQ1MGIyYWJiYmI0YmY5Y2RiYWNjODY3MzBmNmZjZixxQmtwMlptSQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AenqzDJ2ATS0NOPGzuHpKiA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsuperfluouskeys.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173585392139%2Fprisoner-art-masterpost-40&m=1)

[nyssasaralee](http://nyssasaralee.tumblr.com/) – deviantart: nyssasaralee

[artwaffle142](http://artwaffle142.tumblr.com/)

[sapphic-sith](sapphic-sith.tumblr.com) (formerly [morganadraco](http://morganadraco.tumblr.com/))

[eternallifeandtwingoats](eternallifeandtwingoats.tumblr.com) (formerly smilingspider)

[sangamanga](http://sangamanga.tumblr.com/)

[thecoldneverbotheredannaanyway](http://thecoldneverbotheredannaanyway.tumblr.com/)

[rocket2saturn](http://rocket2saturn.tumblr.com/) – art blog: [rocketfueledart](http://rocketfueledart.tumblr.com/)

[belovedeyes82](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fbelovedeyes82.deviantart.com%2F&t=NmZmYjllZGU1MzE3ODU2MGZjYWMzYzZlMGEyM2JhMDY2MmVjYjljNSwxdHdsTmNZbA%3D%3D&b=t%3AenqzDJ2ATS0NOPGzuHpKiA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsuperfluouskeys.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F146383258869%2Fprisoner-art-masterpost-20&m=1) (deviantart)

[harpyvixen](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fharpyvixen.deviantart.com&t=ZDkwNmQ4YjE3M2IyYWMyMmM5Yjc3MDkxM2M0NjI2YjE5YzJlNDFhOCwxdHdsTmNZbA%3D%3D&b=t%3AenqzDJ2ATS0NOPGzuHpKiA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsuperfluouskeys.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F146383258869%2Fprisoner-art-masterpost-20&m=1) (deviantart)

[tateshi](http://tateshi.tumblr.com/)


End file.
